Death has eyes like two heated lanterns, And I am forced to learn survival. A promise I had formed, From hands that were once bleeding, And strength now raises me for a keeping. To make beauty my own from flesh that continues to writhe, From a woman I adore, and will never allow to scream. Any and all who threaten harm, I destroy.
My fears are now disallowed, I have silenced fear at my door, It was death that awaited, And I see survival by my two hands, What is fear? Fear is merely my truest friend, I have befriended fear, I now love fear, and pain, and my life.
She is the woman who screams, A one who calls for aid. A beauty I now make to be mine, I see fear as the calling of death, I see night to behold no shadows, There are no shadows in nighttime, There are no whispers that are true, I create and I will love a truth.
Why would I sleep when love is there for me to breathe? And to watch her breathe, with tresses of idle blackness, Each strand to stroke and to breathe in a scent, Of sweetness, and her lips, to taste and to wield, For my own; she is who I devote my time.
“Love is the emotion of pain and sacrifice; as well, it is the emotion of truth and honesty. Within all of this, love becomes also the emotion of division and support. For just as the four beams to raise high a building must be evenly divided in four separate sections, so the building may stand, such is the same for love. It is the same for love, because all four beams to raise a building requires strength. The strength of men, that is, to lift high not a moronic empire of countless and needless divisions, though to raise high the woman of his choice. As a man controls the sciences and mathematics, he would be the one to make a choice, to simplify his own life into a singular. Love is the emotion of support; and, in such division, there is sacrifice. A man should murder his past in this. Love requires a man to honor a promise. He should sooner slit his own throat than to betray not the woman, but the promise to the woman. To live with this promise to a woman should make a man form a great fear in his mind to threaten himself, in becoming an insect, should he choose to abandon that promise.”
“I had loved a woman,” says this man named Joshua, his feet carrying his body towards a certain uncertainty. He had indeed loved, bared himself wonderfully to a child of his own worship. He had been God upon a time, and gave birth to his pride; the flesh of his own flesh, that is, and made himself smile. Has one ever envisioned God to ever smile?
God is not a thing of power, were ever power to be attained as is, because power has no creation of itself without a viewing of a creation’s suffering; and as the Atheist would adore their emotion of denial, for whatever compiled list of emotions creates denial, sees God as the one to ignore suffering. A compelling sight of ignorance is drawn into the Atheist’s own mind, to say that God ignores suffering. A child, much alike to Joshua’s once-beloved he beheld for himself, is never a child for long. Much alike how Joshua abandoned his beloved, God abandons Mankind for their independence. The pitiful anger an Atheist throws to the sky finds itself nowhere fast, only swimming in the deepest darkness of a limitless universe; and that anger is only a depiction of a proof, that to be angered at God for his supposed refusal to cleanse suffering, proves the angered one to be eternally the child. Therefore, in comprehension of this, God becomes only ever-so powerful, in sight of suffering, in hopes of its thwarting of God’s own throne, in expectation of perhaps a certain someone to die and then ascend.
Joshua had abandoned a woman to her independence, and many movements have encouraged this, for a woman to abandon love, and abandon unity with a man; though, has God ever held the hands of a wife?
What has God built to destroy besides everything he sees with eyes that so many will believe to disbelieve does not exist, as such eyes are seemingly never opened? The sun, and what of the sun, besides warmth, and the warmth we find to open our own eyes after a night’s period of sleep?
Oh, love; such an emotion that awakens; as such occurs for a woman when she is kissed. Beautiful beauty. Beautiful recognition. Flesh rises when it is kissed, and denial only ever surfaces when depression strikes a man down to kiss the soil.
A man is in love with death, not in the act of stooping to kiss, though in the act of loss; to be a pauper is when a man would weep. And Joshua has lost, though of his own accord. A society of Democracy is now London’s breath upon the cold skin of this melancholy town. It is a society of eternal choice, of the uncertainty that comes from never an answer to show itself.
Beauty rapidly falls apart when it is not sustained by the support of love.
A man is in love with a woman when he desires to root her. In place, her desire for exploration is cast aside, and every dance she yearns for becomes wrapped in silence; a dance in silence, that is, and her place becomes the roots for a man’s belonging for her. A man is not in love with a woman when he desires to see her set free. In place of that rooting, she is married with Satan, or deception, and she makes her mark never in sight of God, but of countless opportunity.
For a woman is more-so the opportunist than ever a man was; and a modern realm for a world, especially for Joshua’s hometown of London that has embraced Democracy, has only sought to utilize the essence of the opportunist, so that work is rapid.
A thirst, a burning, a quenching; for the fires of love cannot be quenched, though the first of lust burn out on their own. What has a woman, for any world, in any society, desire for herself? Is it eternity in the arms of a truthful someone, or is it the many placed beams of support, that raises tall a fragile skyscraper, to indicate revolution and endless change?
How long will Joshua continue to travel?
To walk, upon the toes that were once there to see their cleansing in the running waters of a bathtub. And now, to merely stumble over the airy nature of his own depression; and such depression that is a past thrown forward.
He raises his head, during this moment, to espy the walkway before him. A marvelous sight of complete loneliness seems to be now his future.
For what has a man to do with freedom? It is a nothingness to him.
A man becomes the slave, while a woman becomes the asset, for a world that speaks of politicians as saviors.
Politicians have been the leaders of corruption, and nothing more. Love is the only weapon to cleanse; and from this factual sliver of evidence to what has been toyed with, strangled and buried, where are the books with the opening pages to remind all of it?
With what Joshua, as well, espies before him, is a river. In the metaphorical sense, it is another way to depict that road of loneliness, previously mentioned. Though, it is also a way to describe a place of uncertainty.
Of a man and his uncertainty: it is the sight of a globe rotating on the spine of disorder.
Love a man, and he will find himself to make a decision; and to take that decision will reflect upon him as himself never dwelling in eternity to make a decision; and this means, that should a man ever take a moment to decide, he will be forever in love. Though, should he ever take an eternity to decide, then he will be forever in Hell.
Offer freedom through love, to the man, and nothing more. Offer freedom to a woman, and she roams, and nothing more; or a woman will find herself crawling in filth, and still believe herself to hold power.
“I am death,” says a woman, whose power enables her to be that opportunist, repeatedly mentioned, now. “I am love,” says a woman, whose power enables her to cleanse the blood from the responsible man.
Joshua quits his walking, finally.
He has found something that strikes his interest to heart.
“Comprehend, as one might, that the world employs both the existence of martyrs and Gods, those who fall and those who rise; and to be understood from this, is that the realest forms of suffering conjures up thoughts of individual treatment. Speak with whatever suffering you’ve endured, and do not deny this simple wisdom: the usability of assets, and the people to cherish and cling upon. Form the relationships of advantageous gain, and, as well, form the relationships of truest worship. There are people upon this earth to act as no more than a resource, and there are people upon this earth to love until eternity dies on its own. And we will each know in our hearts that the love of truest love, the relationship of truest heart and fiery devotion, is only ever attained when a past is strangled and buried.”
Take from me, These shores of accumulated pain. Drink from me, The blood that spills like fragrant wine. I have enveloped myself, In its entire grace, And have found myself depressed, I have found myself miserable, Dwelling in the deepest blue. I am still so thirsty.
For a drink of love, And not a drink of pain, From the opened bottle, should smell of sweetness, Not of the bitterness to blood, I am to drink wine? Am I to have what is mine? I have loved, have I not? My beauty. You will be my peace, My surrendering from the tallest spire, For that is because my heart would be doomed;
Without your touch, and without your love, My heart is doomed. Do you hear me? My life is damned to Hell, Without the touch from yourself. I am sure to die, Without your smile in my palms. I am sure to perish, Without possessing all I’ve yearned. All I’ve yearned, a love that will make me whole.
In all my imagining, While haunting memory is the music To my mind in its longing, I find myself to view a painting That shows the curves of a naked woman, While her lips are reddened By the blood offered in my hands. Would I reach to kiss?
I desire the wine, next, For a mask is only a shape To what has gaped my wounded spirit, As I rely on awakening to push myself, From the cruelest sleep. Winter drenches me in her family Of white bone and frailest tone, As I have found your seat to be empty.
Pull me closer, To what makes you shiver. I promise, by what little strength I still possess, to make you comforted. I am in love with a promise, As I adore the curves to a woman, As I dream of kissing sweetest kisses, Upon sweetest lips.
Sing to me, Your song of wailing pain. Reveal your sorrow, As I reveal mine in this dim light, Of a remaining winter. I fail, when I have been brought down, To be beside you, in a grave of soil, As all angels, we’ll soar, nevertheless.
I raise this curtain to show a face, Streaming with the tears of fear. Kiss me, beautiful one, before the noose wraps itself, About my idle neck.
I have loved an angel, And gave until I was emptiness, I will remain as emptiness, To focus on your delicate face, And how the world could crush All the beauty away from my reach.
Love has made me strong, Love has made me fragile. As a man who loves forever, I still cling upon pain.
Confusion drinks the waters, Of my frozen soul. Love has a merry way Of showing affection. It is so, for I’ve become solitary Against the waves of family.
I am so tired, To find wholeness, once more, And so, I will lay beside you, In a bed of snow.
I would die, willingly, To merely see your face still smiling. For what haunts me the most, Is the blood that may come, And so, my mind cannot ever ease. My mind cannot ever ease.
“Confine the man, and he’ll not find the bars that cage him to be his true prison. With a monster, darkness should be its only company. Why does the monster dwell in darkness? It is so the monster cannot see its own wounds. Allow any particle of light to interfere, and the monster sees its own reflection, and becomes horrified. Confine the man, who is the monster, and the monster will have no choice but to do only one of two things: to sleep, or to contemplate. In contemplation, the bars, nor perhaps the cave, nor even the darkness itself, becomes not the confinement; for the skull of the monster, where dwells the mind of the monster, are its haunting. Keep the monster in total darkness, and the monster sees no shadows. Introduce light, and once again, it is repeated that the monster will see itself. Man is a beast, and he roars. Sodom and Gomorrah, in wherever an Atheist will blame God for the world’s suffering, is not comprehended as the transpired event, only in result of a refusal to listen to the monster’s call. To God’s call, to a terrible beginning, alike to perhaps a still-born infant. Of death and sleep; and then, the notion of the beast and its action. A monster will distract itself with further devious acts. The monster demands only two things, at the furthest extremes: sympathy or further bloodshed.”
To Man, his submission is to be pulled down from clouds. Why say it is a societal teaching to never see Man weep? It is not so, for his emotions, when released, are divided between sadness and anger. For the former, his emotions are those ambitions, with his mind raised in the clouds, until when his tears rain from storms; and for the latter, his emotions are caged, and in contemplation, Man is searching to break free from confinement. As a monster, Man has contemplated too long; and due to his presence in a prison population, contemplation has made Man reflective on his actions. He plans escape, to be among a world, where there is swaying grass and rushing waves. Man accompanies a prison population, while Woman awaits his return.
Woman holds a belief in a “Second Coming” to Christ, in the sense that she had her virginity taken by the first “Coming”; and to better comprehend, Man would return to ease that longing, should Man choose to remain true. Love is the infinite emotion, an expression of truth upon Woman’s yearning soul. And as Man is the scientist, the inventor, and maker of numbers and mathematics; and especially in numbers, Man will create armies, though upon one day when he matches himself with Woman, he will allow all walls to collapse, upon seeing Woman. She may choose to urge him towards further success, though it will be for her satisfaction. And Woman’s satisfaction extends beyond, in so much as she complies with the guilt of the undoing. Woman reverses upon a memory to see what may else be born in the future, with Man in her accompaniment. And upon him staring into her eyes, he comprehends that there is else to do for her appeasement; and this is in the name of lust, and never love.
Love is the eternal emotion, welcomed by the flames of lust whenever we realize that love requires lust for its maintenance. Man realizes himself, whenever in the clouds, as only ever vulnerable when his ambitions begin to rain tears. And upon the ground, Man is also incredibly enraged, when his truth has been grounded. Man is enraged whenever no one, especially for the heart of the monster, has heeded the beast’s howling call. And it would take Woman’s angel wings to lift the exhausted monster to Heaven, and then beyond. Love is the emotion that reveals truth by flesh shown only when in the darkness of privacy. Beauty is the flesh of Woman, and Man had made it; as he will, at times, call her his daughter, or his child, and treat her in the fragility as all beauty is meant to be protected.
And why is Woman to be protected? For it should be the same as the mother wishing to protect her own child; or the organization in protection of the endangered species; and we can finally see that it is the instinct of love, to protect that which may be endangered. Does Woman aim to resist the call of love, or rather, the action of love? It is instinctual for the mother attached to her child, to be the shield to her child; and it is instinctual for the organization that possesses much power to protect the life that is endangered. Though, what will be the realest reason for Man to protect Woman? It should be comprehended that without Woman, Mankind, itself, would starve, would perish; and therefore, it is to say that without Woman, we’d not survive without her nurturing ways. Humans have learned to survive, and to say that comfort is a thing, in today’s time, as eternal, and provided by leadership, turns a nation into the epitome of vulnerability.
“Woman craves all things to quench her thirst. Gratification is her outcome to her innate trait of curiosity. And a 20th/21st century movement named Feminism has only become the reincarnation of that old tale: Adam & Eve, the old sin, and the old lovers, with Man being betrayed by his disservice to Woman, and his inability to conquer Woman; for it was because Woman thought herself to believe in deception, the repeated quenching of her thirst, over Man who offered her eternity.
Feminism is only the 21st century retelling of the 3,000-year-old tale of Adam & Eve, because it recites the same stages. The stages: To disallow Woman, to free Woman, and then to deceive Woman. And so, we know by this that ‘freedom’ is life’s deception. That purpose, is the motive of life. That hatred, is life’s drive; and to love, is life’s vulnerability in remembrance of another vulnerability, that is death. ‘Adam & Eve’ first showed these stages by first showing Eve’s keeping into being a wife for Adam; and then, she is tempted by Satan, the incarnation of pure deception, to have more than Adam allowed; and then, deception is soon accepted by Eve, for her to then betray Adam, in deceiving him, in return. For Feminism has showed the same steps. As a wife, she was disallowed to roam, to be free; and then, she was tempted into ‘positions of power’ beyond this restriction of freedom; and then, in acceptance of that temptation, she betrays her husband by believing him unneeded for her independence to make an individual choice.
Hatred is only defined as discontent, or dissatisfaction; and Woman is immensely curious. For everything of a home that represents a wall, only the ‘fires of lust’ may burn a home to cinders. Afterwards, Woman is free to walk. Hatred reveals anger, a conflagration or an inferno that reveals itself to be fire, alike to hatred, and everything unchanging is torn apart. To comprehend another thing, Woman feels herself guilty in everything undone for her. Curiosity feeds into this; and as well, a world today that presents itself to desire ‘productivity’ above all things, will renounce love to be Woman’s forte, and become her enemy. For love, as an emotion, is the opposite of hatred, and shows itself as contentment.
It is so, as love speaks for itself, because Man of any real truth, would never say to himself, before Woman, “There she is, before me, though I have need for other things.” Rather, Man would say, “I have her, as she stands before me, and I have no need for anything else.”
Love is the mark of contentment, and there is no other more neutral definition to love, besides that satisfaction that makes us want for nothing more, than what is already treasured. And, an eternity, for whatever else represents the Woman as beloved, than to imprison her in that cage; that same cage that presents itself as the highest degree of truth, as a sentence for life, as an eternity in love, as the most passion extended forth, for there to be no escape from its confinement? Woman was imprisoned in a home for two reasons: her curiosity embedded, and the world would not interfere on that marriage.
Woman’s body is flesh. Flesh is truth. Flesh is recognized as individualized, from person to person, as a skeleton is all-universal, as any other skeleton. It is because one bone is as white as the next. Though, a face will be recognized, not for bone, or structure, but for flesh. Therefore, Woman’s body is the incarnation of truth. And such, when revealed, as that is many a time questioned, always shocking to the witness. Present a Woman of age to espy the Woman of youth in her nude, and what emotion might certainly be expressed in her eyes, besides the highest forms, of perhaps envy or utter shock? Truth is shocking to both eyes and ears, and to even tell the frail widow that her child has died, might cause her heart to burst, so she will die.”
