“Angelic. Pompous. And crude. The barbaric leader rules, with angel wings tainting the world, into sin. Comfort, of deception, makes a person never knowledgeable of themselves. They are death. The walking undeath whose brains have rotted faster than their forms.”
– Modern Romanticism
The mind can decay. The form can decay. Which dies quicker? Which decays faster? Our consistent and nowadays love to our bodies, is not for the cultivation of what might grow in our minds. We never balance the physical with the metaphysical, of pleasure versus love. We are not unified, when we are deceitful to ourselves, and then, the same unto others. We are only ever unified when we wave the banner of objective and inarguable truth, for others to follow it.
Barely does anyone know what grows on the two flat ends of a coin. Perhaps they’d not be the continued-in-purpose rivals, destined for the other’s defeat. Perhaps, through their existence, they are unable to live without the other. Perhaps, in their existences, all things should always be paid attention to, for the selfless sake of both stories told.
Unity does not ignore, especially among what was created. Division ignores what was split, left to rot in the past, may have represented the mind, while the form flees onward. If we are physical, then we represent love. If we are metaphysical, then we represent what we despise. This is to say that when it comes to the mind, nothing is more forgotten than what logic says to erase or forget on a straightforward path. When it comes to the form, many entanglements can be done, to rarely ever be undone, except for the mind’s own interference.
We seem to deify Devils.
We rarely ever comprehend we are all angels, until someone remembers what it means to be both.
Each person holds black and white in their heart. They are not feuding, though permanently working alongside the other, comprehending that one’s own existence is necessary for the other to survive.
Modern Romanticism 