Who Am I To Forgive Myself?

The world today is full of surprises. Everywhere you turn, the atmosphere is heated up, and left to burn lackadaisically among the ashes of renewed energy. “Where is this new energy you speak so highly of? I’ve been many things in my life but a dumbass won’t one of them!!”

Tickling the ears of imbeciles with big leather pocketbooks full of that new blood money should be enough to make even the sorriest of men back away. Treason only belongs to the hate-mongers who would rather see you die in the night. Half trawling moon catching the dim light of something even greater than thyself, your unchangeable death.

“I have a proposition for you this day. You all have more mouth than a rambling, babbling lunatic, who is only speaking out of anonymity for thy silhouette clings hopelessly among the family pictures that doth hang upon thy walls. Living for the moment will only lead to fast times. Then the speed in which you arrived will shatter the very thing that kept you going, your mind!!”

Whispering regrets in the attic won’t make it change just like speaking lies while holding a holy talisman won’t make them truths. A coward only finds himself hidden in the identity of others, and that to me is what you call blind faith in man. “I have a wish for everything living, but only because my prayers are not working anymore since my heart broke and reset my psyche.”

“You have done awful, perverse things to which I am unable to find in you forgiveness, for out of many shall bring little comfort, until that which is broken comes to rest and to mend. Treasures you will often find, but little nuggets of temptation will be all you seek. Nothing more shall come your way while your doorway stands in absence of your closed heart.”

Wisdom used to dance off my tongue like a serpent coiled up and ready to make an appearing. Shadows often come and go, but shadows weren’t meant to follow the living through the streets, filled with dark desires and careful planning. Darkness swallows the earth and then spits her back out in the morning.

He sat, sprawled across his evening lecture like a genius calculating the risks involved for even being here. Trust me. The risks were enormous. “No one can save me from my thoughts. To grow with me is like the sea billowing it’s waves like clouds forming smoke rings on the horizon.”

“Bring unto me all those who keep your lack of trying as their deadliest weapon and I’ll show you todays next fallen mantelpiece. The fireplace would make an even greater energy source if only it could tower high and journey low. Oh, where has the flames risen to at this hour and cast light upon my old, creaky floors?”

Tears only run when the face you have coveted becomes a bickering trap made for the dead, and living alike. Penniless only stigmatizes the soul who wants to change the culture of prosperity into a chase for absolute freedom. Need not worry. Fate only follows in pursuit of the promise of safety, but falters unto the weight of temptation’s bittersweet hypocrisy. Crowds can gather all they want. My testimony remains fluent in evidence, and the truth shall set you free.

“Well, lookie here. A new era of reasoning beyond the old ways of forging distrust through the air of seduction by reason of justice I have found only the rich bring forth dead fruit from a rotten garden in whom all things turn sour and stink. You have finally seen my spirit sail the heavens and paraglide the earth with such grace among the livestock of people ahead of me and behind of me.”

Wandering with superstition, and carrying on with unrepentant hatred, a mystery only known to the unseen and the unknown, I have a clue. Sitting through it all was the trees, who had listened so intently, and never once did they interrupt him, for he was genuine, and that, to them, made him mighty among the trees who stood magnificent and unafraid of death.

Seeing as he was very outspoken and full of wonder, in which little was known of his becoming born, the flowers swayed gently on the wind, hanging in the midst of that gentle breeze a blowing like a soft whistle creates a little gasp of air on your face. Troublesome and unhinged were the animals, but even they were tranquilized by his opportunistic chants of rebirth.

He was a founder of hope in an earth of disdain and remorse. Chewing nectar from the blossoms of eternal bliss was his stepping stones of sheer blissfulness. Drawn from one end of the spectrum to the other, this was the end of laughter. He paused a sec. Sitting down on a hollow log, he spoke for the last time, “Who am I to forgive myself? The world has become so small compared to me. I’ve shifted the weight of the world behind me and walked ahead of her, leaving only a shadow to be beloved. This will be my close. This will be my psalm. This, my friend, will be my funeral, for her. “Goodbye ol’ friend. You have taught me well. Goodnight, mother. I shall sleep well yet.