While this society was a direct opposite of a younger society that stood from its strength not shook from it’s fragility and indecision, there are proponents that argue that this generation is the second beginning of creation. Information is readily assessable via various handheld devices, curiosity is aplenty and the youth find intrigue with the aberrant course. I believe it is on this path that creation is found and revolutionary phenomena is discovered along the unscathed roads of nascent enlightenment. I believe the complexity of this pursuit almost always ensues peril and is unbecoming of the frail seekers searching for only recognition with discovery. I believe passion is married with any true monumental discovery and one’s desire to aid others by advancing the world. We fail in social interactions and falter under the pressure of frivolous discourse but capitalize on the access that we’ve been blessed with. A question no longer lingers for decades, ignorance no longer has refuge, and finally the origin of facts can be pronounced on any basis of any honorable argument. What a time to be alive.
As the houses burn around us, we try to save our own. We build defenses of formidable measure to withstand the most perilous of onslaughts. We fortify our roofs with unbreakable ethics and stay true to our shelter. We stay away from our windows because they show us what we must do without; the pain and misery outside those doors deal great damage to our exposed exteriors. We craft our success to persevere through the fact of eventual failure.
We’ve pointed out spades of errors in the integrity of our fellowmen’s houses…we pledge not to make those same mistakes. I have one other, one other person in this bout of foul play, I stare my darling in her eyes as she set flames to our drapes boding slow death to our sanctuary, she was freezing and needed a heat my body could not provide. The chandeliers fall to the ground and burst into glass cutting chunks of fresh meet from my sensitive legs. I stare my darling in her eyes, I stare my darling in her eyes, I stare my darling…in her eyes as she promises forever…confounding reason with flames. I beg my beloved, who which has the power to remove, these flames from our haven, to not mimic the shortcomings of her friends, I beg my beloved to make eternal peace with her heart and not temporary splendors with her actions. I beg my beloved to think about her honor and truth, for these virtues can rebuild our home. I fear the weight of a vexing plight and allure of a false tomorrow may fill her lungs with that cinnamon smoke, and that is when…I will lose her.
…grant her access to my mind with a roadmap of what rooms not to open-
I would pick her up by her perfect waist and place her at my doorway,
I would swear to my god that her experience would end in accord after her exclaiming me a prophet,
There would no longer need a reason to speak,
I would no longer have to give her a sneak peak through the window in the foyer,
Her body would bow, we would grow, and her heart would finally genuinely know,
What I mean by unconditional.
She would find her solution hanging from the fixtures,
She would see the potential of her future in the pictures,
She would be able to recognize the scent in the home,
And never ever have to question the reason why I fear being alone.
She would probably laugh at the clutter of yesterday’s expectations-
While running through the hallway in a fit of desperation to find my final declaration…the reason.
I feel she would search for weeks,
Body broken and heels weak,
Starring at her surroundings until she reaches a mirror and falls to her knees,
She, the reason, controls the pictures on the walls,
Controls the smell of the home,
Controls the complex fear of being alone,
With three simple words.
We would exit in peace fingers braided,
With forever a possibility again.
I keep my demons in my cellar,
The holy gatekeeper ironclad at the door,
I’ve gotten used to the sound of them beating at the floor,
They do not eat, because I do not feed,
They are not alive so they do not bleed.
Holy gatekeeper mantled in crosses,
Prays for hearts of the thoughtless,
Well righteous and dauntless,
Screaming psalms at the godless,
Oh gatekeeper my guard,
Tame the hate eaters,
The terror of prosperity,
The fear of accomplishment,
The possibility of failure,
The potential for success,
The beginning of nothing less than-
The inability to rest.
I can trust that, when searching for the heralds of decency my quest will be long. Eventually the pursuit will seem frivolous and the causes abolished, but I will continue. I know that the evidence will not bode well for the quality of the current generation of youth. I mustn’t follow those who spread hate by perpetually associating color with action, color with crime, or color with anything other than a description of the subject at hand. I mustn’t follow the eternally self-victimized; the ones pointing the blame of hatred at the “white man” and not noticing the hatred that they feel in their very hearts. I will not look toward those who cannot see the problem that they’re crafted into something immortal. When searching for this decency I must look not only with mind but with heart, for my knowledge fails where my heart does not.
I fear the dogma of nobility has been desecrated and only holds true with our blessed elders. The hatred of mankind for mankind is nothing short that despicable. We have caches where we store our arsenal of blame to fire whenever questioned. We oppress ourselves by believing wholeheartedly that we are oppressed. We cannot step outside our safe havens of history because reality is just as bleak. I fear the possibility of peace…has never existed.
Despite the throes of shouldering malignant devices,
I am still fond of my resolve,
Spades of incessant onslaughts sought to drain my hope from me like blood to a grateful needle,
I have confessed my power to conquer the professedly impossible to the world,
I bested the wretched with flames and held again begotten peace in hand,
While terrors of the night rocked me in my sleep I found solace in the mental chaos and threw doubt to the dancing flames,
Hands burnt to char and wrists bruised with chain.
The embraces of tranquil relapse massage the trite irrationality-
Never beyond my grip of sanity,
Intelligence of oneself putting shields to the trying tyrant,
Armies in thought clashing blades with the beasts,
Possessing advances without defeat,
Again, and again into incredible escapes,
I have found my definition of what means emotionally safe,
I can no longer stand on fragile ground holding eternity in my hands,
This is a story of my triumph.
Days have stopped counting backwards,
The sun has stopped startling the bats,
The smell of stability no longer churns the morning stomach,
I am no longer hungry for love,
I am no longer blind to place,
I am no longer slung asunder,
And I am no longer ungrateful to God’s grace.
I am thankful.
I died in my dream last night,
Not pleasantly no no not pleasantly,
I was crushed by a curse,
The weight of my culture scraped into my swollen shoulders,
The weather made it worse,
The sky would cry its stolen ice boulders hoping the ground would hurt,
The vibrations would call my knees to ground,
Would cause my ears to ring,
Would cause my breathing to act up and my skin to sting,
I had a memory of living toward greater means,
I wanted to thrive and yearned to be seen,
I had aspirations, motivations, and death dreams,
Every morning and every night,
I would speak to myself in the mirror trying to kindle that internal light,
When it died down the darkness stopped the beating on my chest,
I got swamped with fatigue and dived into disinterest,
Eating beside my own shit and sleeping atop my own mess,
I could not see beyond my sight,
Every morning and every night,
I would talk to myself in a building’s window to try and rekindle that light.
I did not know what it meant to be spiritually blind,
I was always the only person on Earth and could not stand being around people,
I would scoff at the church steeples,
Call the church people “sheeple”,
And move on with my dirty day.
My people would stare at me and my beggin’ hands,
Giving pity and pennies,
Two days have passed on an empty corner and questioning faces.