Life is many a splintered things. Never knowing when or where the journey will take you. When the ground will crumble beneath your feet, when the crack of the wood will come, the sounds of the waves become the all consuming sound with in your inner ear as the very vivid feel of the last breath in your lungs being strangled out.How peculiar it is, to sit and ponder the many different mountains we have climbed, our victories as they mount, but the constant over shadowing of those defeats that stole a part of us. The memories of the climb out weight both the fall and the rises. The ash lays around your feet, but it is the fire in the soul that soars beyond it all. The one eternal light to lead you through the dark. The constant guide that will not lead you astray.
Follow your heart they say, follow it and you will never step off the path... however, I would argue different, I believe that if one truly follows their heart, there is no path, there are no limits, no boundaries, it will take you out of this plane, away from logic and reason. Beyond redemption, there will be no salvation but through utter submission to one's heart, to follow it completely will take them to a true whirl wind of utter insanity with excruciating moments of sanity. Where black becomes the light, and white becomes the darkness, where fire drowns and water burns. Where nothing makes any sense, and yet it is the perfect sense. The heart is insane, not the mind. The battle that one wages that will far surpass any battle of men, is that of the mind and heart... the body and the soul. The battles are gruesome, they are bloody, they hold no quarter, they expected nothing and yet demand everything. Contradicting its self time and again and yet we scream for more, be it through agony of the pleasure of it all. That lingering burn of addiction that we as the ones that have tasted the sweet ambrosia of the poison of our hearts only quiver in delight and anticipation to quell the hunger that grows. There is no remorse, it is a constant state of purgatory.
Swallow me whole... fellow string puppet of the bleak and yet glorious state in which our hearts hold us. The chains that sing out there antagonizing melody to our minds, that renders it silly with the innuendos that it gives prelude to. The dangerous game in which we tap dance, the dance in the pale moon light, where the only demon is our self... we are our greatest foe and out strongest ally. We trust our self, and yet we doubt our self. Confidence is something that can be stole with just one slice of the dagger, but can be pulled from the deep rooted pain. So kindred spirit of the heart's battle... how similar we are... stretching out across the great span of the world.. time and space hold no meaning. There is nothing to tell one moment from another.
As constant as the sea, as steady as the star... but... as ever changing as the phases of the moon that linger above us... honest as the day is long... OH how i wish it would rot and dissipate like the tempest when the brilliance of dawn wakes and leaves the destruction with that ever annoying lingering hope that plants the seed deep with in and with the fertile feeding of faith the foolish notions of believing, the dreams that haunt and torture we are trapped, held as bound as any of the flesh and mortal realm can be...
Is there ever true freedom... are we not slaves to our own devices... our own codes and morals... to the very limits of our physical being?? Do we not have a choice... NO... we cannot help who we love... we are not suppose to... oh the true sting of utter love... all consuming, hell fire burning, sinful delectable love that does not expect, it does not demand anything in return. The depths of valleys that is consumes is awe striking and humbling. Never knowing the true depths one can love until they fall to that abyss never to see the light of sanity again... for the plague as thus struck and you are there... the dummy target practice to take hit after hit... and you come roaring back for more... you try and find the glee in it all... seek the irony in which would put reason to it all.
But, there is no poetic justice to this. Only the plain... obvious... vicious cycle that comes around again and again. Release... there is no such thing. For even in death it will linger, for it touches upon everything and anyone in this life and will carry with you to the life here after. Imprinted upon your children, born of love, for that love, that need, that depth of love will grow there inside and through them your mark upon this world has been set.
The object of your love might be confused with passion and lust... but without passion or lust there is no common ground for love to grow. The wicked lines that are drawn not to be crossed, and yet they are bent, they are pushed, tested and broken. Love finds away, it always does. Even if at the end of the night you feel nothing but the surface deep pain that has some out found that one missing ring in your chain mail, it has seeped into your veins with its dark spindles infecting ever pore.
So... do we sit here, drown in the oubliette that we have been left in. That dark place to be forgotten, untouched by anything else, left there to gather the cob webs, while the torture continues to fester, while we are the victims of our Puppet Master, unable to break free of those unseen bonds that hold us trapped forever more?
While the bleak and honest view of this may seem like nothing more than a mad woman's rants, it how ever is the honest view of it all. Love and life are man splintered things... and yet we relish with in it, from the depths of pain we know the true golden virtue of what is beyond words and measures when that bloom opens and the dew kisses upon the petals as the dawn breaks, the light is reflected, and there is nothing left in the moment to worry about, save the two lovers running through the moon beams, with enough love to stop the world, bend the fabric of time, to throw off kilter the design of life...
It is in of its self... bitter irony... but to question it would be like taking the dagger to your own bosom, or to ingest the poison that will stop the breath...
So question naught... moreover... if you truly wish something, no mountain, no single solitary object will stop you, not even your own self imposed prison of denial and codes will prevent you from taking what it is that you truly wish... --if-- it is truly what you wish, you will find away to have it in your life in an all consuming fashion... there would be no mountain, for you would move it, there would be no time, for you would seize it... to caution to those out there... actions are the trust testimony to the heart... a drunken tongue is the gateway for a sober heart to be expressed. So drink up and let out what it is that you harbor in the deep unknown recces of your heart, let it be known to the world and never have regrets... for what you have now is exactly what you wanted, or you would not have it... you made the choices in which you have... you found away to have everything you want and a way to keep what you want away from all else... with that tricky little deception guise that all fall for...
All with the wool over there eyes and the cages to their hearts. But to the one that holds the key, it is all very clear. It is all very apparent... lets pray that -one day-, -some day-, is not that one time it is to late to correct an err, to make right what should have always been.
I already hold the last laugh with my wine goblet against my lips in the intoxicating cast of shadows from the fire, making a mockery of a lovers caress... temptation is a bitch, ain't it? Well... temptation has nothing on a Temptress, a Siren, an enchantress... the dark desire that still walks with the strength and determination and the intimate knowledge to obtain just what is she wants... or the ability to squash any last remnant of what once was...
