I was suspicious of dreams, cautious of words. I was rebel like, conditioned to silence, thrown into arts. Such soft-spoken beliefs, beheaded for such courage. A man will either live or die; a woman will either sail seas, or take courage through deaths. The empire is under siege; warriors are subject to a quickened decline. And we talk about Truth, most of us discount it, desecrate it, quite selective. Hellish believers; a sickled soul, a seed planting soul, wondering why hate is an option. So categorical; such Utilitarian spirits, struggling over duty; the field of the bastards, such subtle theft, eyes moistened and red. Given life to what is loved, thus, cherished; destroying what fails to believe in us. One sure to win essence, pride, and respect. A man was surfing, riding waves, when a wale appeared; he couldn’t dodge it, it invaded his life, trespassed his index, lived in his computer; to have died like it wasn’t nature; to have lived like it was illegal; by angelizing something satanic, by demonizing said angel element, to settle into a foreign portrait. Never to have it according to fantasy; never to feel secure; over some picture distorted by nature. To wonder why a soul would be indignant; therapy might not be safe. I hope it was worth it. To the grave to speak against it. And listening means nothing; knowing means so little; one mustn’t show depth of discrepancy; too much to withstand.
