we close with pains in soul and
spirit, not as creatures broken, more as beings growing. how to deal
with resistance? how to undo hopelessness? how to ignore society? difficult
questions, aside a jamesia flower, trying to efface a hunch. winds blowing in
thoughts. chimes echoing concerns. fireflies seeming like signs.
if it means pain
for me, it means sorrow for another.
is it fair to
claim infallibility, be it implied, or overtly done?
if a person is a
Christian, Warlock, or Wiccan, is it necessary, is it demanded to tell others?
some are
deliberate and difficult and hiding—would they wish the best for you? the
spirit of the person—it varies—it skates to an internal viola.
do others wish to
control you? if not, why? if so, why? many are escaping questioning—it just is
what one says it is? many aren’t rebutting, nor inquiring.
but …
the spirit is
watching—the universe is responding—we have recourse against this: more appropriateness;
evenness; clarity of intention.
the soul is enduring,
torn like paper, unfolded like paper clips; going deeper into itself, treading
gardens, aware of another cycle.
if plausible,
humans are not good nor bad—not entirely. all goodness is clarity, painful,
unbelievable. all badness is injurious, unclarity, easier to believe.
Have people
examined their souls, their spirits, to determine the person we have become?
