For so long, I drifted searching for the bliss of heavenly God, that of Reveal to descend calm upon me,
But it was only when I accepted the horrors of my dark fears in Shadow, did I ascend into completion,
And by expressing mix of their Sheen as honest love, did I let myself sit and be thankful for life’s beauty.
I once was a soft child, and thought like one too. I played in the tall grasses like a dreamer, educated myself near the intelligent, worked hard as civic endeavour, and lost myself within society’s fall for elitist apathy.
As a child, I clung to the powerful, looking for an authority to direct my path, or a pack voice that would speak through me, to whisper the easiest ways to ascend in safe celebrated glory. But as I’ve aged, I see that a thinking human must make their own way, and choose well their enemies so they may protect those they love, the vulnerable, often abused and downcast.
For this system is of apathetic design,
And wages its greedy war against us,
Whether we acknowledge it or not.
All war is evil, and evil does it impart. But some have never fought in wars, for they've had nothing to fight for, always bending peacefully to higher powers, hoping it will spare their fearful soul or ascend them high to heaven. Allowing others die in battles to retain their glory safe at home. But I have lived through the trenches of this mental war, and watched my friends fall into its gore, seen depression take their breaths, watched as the wealthy strapped them up, or as a security state cast watchful eyes churning them to schizophren. And for all the honest love I tried offer, I could not cease the rolling guns that shot at their brains to stand before a train fast on tracks.
And now, upon these barren fields crushed low by such an engine, I search for the spirits that have departed its softest grasses. But no longer can I gently love as an artist while apathy blinds us cruelly. For apathetic power is what I battle with, having all its tools of superior intellect and manipulative networked control – and yet, honest love is what I aim for. But don’t read me as silently sulking for a wisp of celebrity divinity, when those who wrought this pain within me, continue their rot in heaven's richest glory, doing nothing or withholding betterment. I forgive not their vanity, I detest them their warring apathy, and I am a force of wrath upon their placating delicacy that has given rise to monsters.
So, how long shall I cry for the dead in these fields? And how many more innocent lives will drown in my debilitating tears? And if I keep thinking in a secure pack while wrestling to silence our better radical aims, than what other forces am I emboldening to seize control?
But I will calm for peace, when the good people unite to flow in honest love and break these elites unfeeling war from above. I did not start this, nor seek to become this, but this world they have created, which has created me also. And I'm old enough now to stand resolute before their terror, while I honestly love and protect the dignity of the everyday person.
And this I know as truth, it is my honest love for others that will save me from my rage at closing end,
That is why I wrote it first, so that I would always catch myself from falling into their apathetic traps.
But this day, do not ask me to not war, for elite bloodshed has battled upon this body for far too long,
And before God's eyes will I find my justice, marching step a humane army to end these terror reigns.
It keeps me humble to know that only a handful of folks frequent this scribble of a blog,
My wavy analytics have told me so, as they crescendo to three or four, then down to zero.
For I would hate so much if I were an eccentric celebrity or odd form of new age zeitgeist,
And at discovery of my rambling words, I was followed, tracked and mocked for being me,
How disturbed I’d feel if my temple visits worried authorities I might explode a parliament,
Or if I upset presidents who then sent out dutiful partners to mask for them as softer cover,
If politicians frequented my site to assuage their immoral impulses in a corrupting system,
If white-clad saints found breakup courage with unhappy princes after reading into its fury,
If an insecure security state took interest in swirling around each dumb thing I'd preached,
If code creepers used my image outputs to manipulate propaganda that scrolls on past me,
If network weavers pushed information to try manipulate and keep alive my slow-grow mind,
If cults sent emissaries to smile and shake my hand to feel for warmth toward their cold ends,
If corporate narcissists wondered how to capture its imagery and bend to a controlled path,
If unreflecting media mouths tried heed these words only to echo confused in obvious bias,
If tube talkers sought a half-baked philosopher questioning our decrepit ethical conceptions,
If skeptical comedians read over shoulder to tweak the meaning into easy middle-way jokes,
If artists strung perfection expectations on mystique but did not believe the mess I said I am,
And if beautiful young people searched for me on streets to try find fame in my lover’s arms.
But luckily, none of this is the case – well, only in my phrenic split mind.
For I’m just a loner in a tiny bedroom typing half-naked at a screen,
And I have no one to offend, for so few read this mess-of-a-thing,
But if it was famous, perhaps money hoards I would try and make,
Though, in all honesty, so disillusioned with capital have I become,
That adding my name, face and copyright was I unable to partake.
For offering yourself freely as embodiment of pursued passion,
Is how you live eternal, freely stretching your body across time,
Instead of trying to take each moment as divinely yours to own,
I have never called myself a saviour, though Jesus I have implied,
For I seek not to be a perfect image, but live a mess of my truths,
For an image is but a single truth, but my mess relates me to you.
And from endeavouring to offer my truth freely from honest love,
Am I also freed from heaven’s controlling will from highest above,
For the trappings of divinity and coin weigh heavy need on a soul.
And likely, such sluggish attitude means I’ll die unknown broke,
As so many writers obsess words more than the basics of life,
But, at least I’ll have been here freely doing what I love most.
And while many say to never offer yourself freely when others will pay…
I politely tell them they put too much faith in a greedy pyramid scheme,
For nothing in this life has meant more to me, than what I freely became.
