I
see us flourishing, in this land of faith, stumbling for grins; this romantic land,
as captured in serenity, these two so distant from chaos. It’s a joyous land,
as filled with undercurrents, this world featured in psyches. He hears an echo,
as to ignore himself, ever that thrown into worship. Time presents
fortune—these inner secrets, this warming force. This voice is walking, as
syllables upon waves, where God befriends man; but what for Us, these times of mystery, prior to
this fallen chaos? Something is nudging, this feral god, as for want of
worship; to impart wisdom, this calling for power, to imbue man with storms. He
draws closer, to witness affliction, as too deep to retreat. Some nights are
lightless, this inner whirlwind, grappling with faith; for how this magic, for
one so keen, as to rarely offend? He learns mechanics, to climb paradox, as to
find this endless war. It couldn’t be real, where reality is faith, as for one
so for another! He searches for kinships, as to increase power, if only to
extract allies. They remain distant, as to ward off forces, as to avoid this
deep creek; but all are tethered, too far in to relent, as too, most carry
indignation; for morals become concrete, as too, insights become law—this inner
reason to persevere. Its communion—this clad of flux, kneeling for gripping his
guts; this fiery trial, extended from level to level, a countenance that
betrays a psyche; where all is sightless, until that moment, where forces
travel; to meet us come dawn, as in-tuned deeply—engrossed in this
investigation. He takes for nature, this sequence of events, as ready to
exonerate faith; but pressure builds, to push passed lights, as to wonder of
motives. It mustn’t be this thing, where two are one, where branches are
intelligent; but this is life, this torn force, embedding its nature.
