Held onto by the waves and destroyed by the 'morrow, the night that had thus begun had no more but a season of touch, and a kiss of love--the moon and the stars transcend into the day even though the sun wanes, and for all to see they will know your name and they will shout it out in a language that only he can know and master.
Men mastered and taken over by the fire. A heat of passionate desire, oh who thus has nere brought us our dignity and broken our bones with respite and parries of the mouth. Deep ashes and embers seep into the soil and stay for days, then why is it like the morning dew that we fade away?
Is it not so that we are made to toil in our own land and feed upon our own vegetation and be left alone and not fear of the coming dark just as the theif so desperately warrants it. I may not see the future as some do, but the thing upon all that is just and virtuous is not for us to decide upon, nor must we think we do, for when we think of ourselves as justifiers and persecutors, do we not then hold back upon our very souls?
Burning virtue, a strong desire, and yet we all tend to the fire that seeps into the veins of men. Greed and passion makes men tremble, and want of money makes a man hunger for what is not his. A fear destined not to embrace one another, but instead to put walls upon all that could be given them. The tree, the sparrow, all wane and see just as we do, a tree does cry, and a bird itself feels compassion--then why must we all bury ourselves in deep remorseful and unforgivable desire.
Do we not hold the flame of which ourselves are deemed incomplete? No, nor are we meant to be extinguised by the piss of other men and their revelries. As I know and many others know, we cannot all be as a flame burning brightly, but we can carry it for others. As if we could do no more. My sight and my fear, burning with anger as bright as the heart of a newborn, and yet as weak as a man decrepit in old age.
And so we must all bear down our burden, and hope that we do not thus equal itself to death.
