The way it ends, it was destined. The way it begun it
was foretold. The pain was necessary, the revenge will disappoint us both. I see
visions—much mental activity. Love was pure, another was crooked, seeing it so
much, muddies one’s perception. If pure of soul, relish in that. If shady,
plus, semi-religious, consider it redemption. It shouldn’t have occurred, it
shouldn’t have happened, but tears are purification. So laxed in perception, so
convenient in thought, tortured, battered, and hurt; the fire cleansing the
temple, the reason to kill the messenger, the hurting becoming a vendetta.
I was lost in darkness, still there, so absent to
purity. Praising Father, wanting greatness, disbelieving in Father’s children.
Seeing it play out, time and again, learning to play pretend. Maybe some people
see all beauty, maybe they ignore the havoc, maybe they wrestle a tumor. I keep
hope for the hopeless. I fret the ending of time. Maybe the universe will
collapse. Maybe it will withstand itself. Maybe I’ll come back—conscious, but
unconscious. None really can fathom probability. It will continue. I will be
present.
