Time As Barrier

As we wait for time itself we know that soon and in the very spaces of this time there will be a point at which we arrive at and reflect back upon the moments that were dead for us, in mind, in heart and in soul. The hours that we glorify unknowingly during the aches and troubles always seem to make sense only after we have forgotten them.

As if time as a mirror is not showing you yourself but that it is showing you the memory of an idea of this self that you believed was yours to have. It drags like the miner with a limp drags his sacks of coal across the pit, he knows in those solitary hours that there is a chance he may die under here and waits to get to the light at the beginning of the entrance.

This topic of purpose, direction, movement and freedom for the justification of our lives always cripples us when we have the least to give but the fire never stops burning. The fears of the widowed shadow of your reflections, the denial of your own right to say, I am who I am, in the face of total torment, is where the hole opens. It is noticeable to paint yourself as something abstract and featureless and to that I call upon the very burdens of the emptiness, hollow and violent in its fraudulence as it crashes against this tide of grief.

What horror the future really is for us.

We know of a thing that waits for us somewhere ahead and yet we know nothing of its notion, the road to it, the isolation it delivers along the way and the fever of its glaring vicious eye. Must we stay in the present or do we end it before it's too late to keep looking ahead at the opening of the sky?

Love As Revolution

There is always some finding that comes to you, one, that cannot be predicted or pursued. One that happens entirely randomly and with it you are alive, from a distance, you are witnessed and seen, heard and understood.

The quiet miseries that have begotten you, fooled you and made you stumble homelessly into your own failures and inadequacies are now dissolving presently, though as time shows this wait for these dreamly and divine occasions to come by, the wait is the wait of a lifetime. That is a lifetime worth spending just to wait to meet that person as you know your own imagination has grown covering your vision of her like the dying flower in a curious garden.

Love.
The findings of it have changed my understanding of my life, I am forgiving the ghouls of night in the brightness of morning. Not a dream or an idea. A concept or a rambling in philosophy and poetry, but a fate that brings itself into your own hands and with it you are required to build a castle to keep that flower alive in your garden, for if there ever was a storm it would be guarded by my own flesh and bones, even if that means my body dies. In sickness or in loss of mind, it will be guarded as my death guards the future.

This mirror and muse reveals that which I never knew existed.
How sad of a life it has been to not know of a certain feeling, a certain yearning that brings glory to those I know of that have passed.

A light in the labyrinth has been found, what I understood as my mission to preserve my solitary life for myself and myself alone, now I know it is a mistake of belief, I have lied to myself. Now my mission is not for me, it is not of me either, it is beyond me and I am unknowing but awoken to the real road that awaits me. I can see its markings and no footprints are along it, so despite starting the mission by myself, I know of a road that leads to the greatest of findings, one that I do not need to walk by myself, but that I must build that road by myself and through my glory she will be there at the end. There is a life becoming, a life different than the one I have known.

A revolution of souls.
She lives where I must send my soul.
There are two roads I must travel down.
One is to her.
The other is to our kingdom.

The Illusion Of Shame

I have borrowed the man I once was to protect the man I am becoming. Though his tears do not bother me as they used to, I have made an allegiance with him to contain the antidote to his sickness. One which was my doing, I left him in the dark, alone. He was a prisoner, a victim, a maniac who knew nothing of the strings of reality. I have asked for him to release himself as he will do at my request, for he too wants me to be free for this future that awaits me, a future that I cannot stop myself from thinking of.

I have dreamt of this life, almost as an amalgamation from youth, and it isn't only because I am a man that my life should be considered real for the hearings of others. It is from my own spirit that I know my life to be real in the halls of this labyrinth. From door to door, allegory to allegory, scribe on scribe. I am married to the shadows though my hands are open and pale and my heart beats louder than ever.

I wonder, what more do I hide?

Faith In Becoming

And still I do not give up.
I do not lie down and disappear beneath this moment or under these hours. It is not for her trials that I will win this war, it is by the consecration of my soul that she has shown me I was never broken.

The distance, this ache, it is not the suspicion of failure or pain. It is the echo of everything that is already mine, calling me forward. I stand on solid ground and my limbs, they are mine as they are for her. What I do with this flesh of mine, as sacrifice of being, will deliver me the night with her standing, awaiting me at the gate.

I will.
I am.
I shall.
Be forged from this fire and born again.
As the phoenix I always was.