The Choice
Where shall I run?
Where shall I hide?
Where shall I exist?
Where is that place I must go, to hide myself from thy sight so pity not take part in thy mind for my own sight.
Where must I run and shield my heart,
thy eyes are scarce,
thy cries perish inside the mind of this resonant I.
Hope is the will I have for you to forever be.
I have found my piece,
It will never be the peace envisioned and spoke upon by many.
The piece of life that I speak comes only from sorrow and not of a misty bright yearning for morrows dawn.
My
piece is that of life that never was but always is. The piece of hate
that continues to grow inside my life. An anger of wrath that is so
vast and deep that it has come to not even exist. It is void and empty.
The point to which there is nothing to end and nowhere to begin.
The flaws and imperfections of my own deception is that;
I know not anymore the bliss.
The bliss inside a fools blinded cascade of love.
The place where there is no matter or anything but beauty that surrounds a dream.
The encapsulated peace of being and the abundance of joy that never wilts nor ceases to exist between the one that is two.
The fairies tale,
a love as far as the eye is concerned, Something that in Itself;
Never ends.
This to never have but to know a taste. The dry liquid!
This is that which forms inside the mind,
the feeling that is there that bends but doesn't break.
the
throbbing attacks of catching the breath that is lost over the moments
in the bliss that is formed in this feeling that hasn't seem to take
it's form.
Formless it is, In my own reality.
The budding
flower that spreads wondrous glory in its short lived span which always
seems to die as sure as the summer's love intertwines with the winter
that begins.
Different is I,
The beauty and passion that surrounds the world.
All for me to revel and take part.
The captivated picture.
The restless vision that stains my inner mind.
The greatest love for the life abound so luminous the minds eye;
To live and die, the beauty inside the beast.
Even as I still walk with my past,
As I stumble with my choice,
As I stare with blank eyes,
As I care knowing that I am still the hypocrite!
I am the double standard who tells my loveless lies of how beauty and love is the force of nature that never dies.
It is my own lie.
The
passing soul, The loving tilt inside my mind knows that the only way to
see the true and empty life that is passion is through the sorrow.
Upon my sorrow, the dusk of all things to be in the better tomorrow!
The fools' hope, The blind faith, The ignorant hate.
All three have facets of life that I will never see.
Wisdom is sorrow,
Love is sorrow,
Hate is sorrow,
In it all I have found that no matter the mountain,
No matter the valley,
In all this life will ever be is the sorrow and the anomalies that come to know an aspect of life that is truth.
However, the picture painted portrait of pain about truth is....
Truth is not the best choice.
Choose the lie!
Anyone that tells you different they are living the lie.
With Love;
Sebastciaun T. Censtcuriaus
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The Ventriloquist
The sustained senility I sustain;
the
similar and difference to thee which in thy loving and careful words I
find sweet shutter of silence thrown towards thine own ear.
The puppet has it's master as the blind conviction of a lovers does it's curse;
Such I find,
a ventriloquism where mine own heart is the puppet and the master tangles and toys with my own chord.
I continue to dance, I continue to parade about in this constant charade to thine masters decree!
How shall I find an everlasting piece of heart;
In this peace that is an insurrection of my master of puppets and a collection of their tears.
As
I am a creation bore forth out of fear and love to dance and prance
about under the moon and above the soon. The cause of my unknown
sanity that bleeds forth my resurrected insanity. Mine own paradox of
humility is a reflection of a creation that when taken time to stop!
The roses are sweet and the wine is bitter.
Then
again, I take a second glance at the batted eyes of the plague of
nations that haunt the enslavement of children and innocent mind and I
can only come to a conclusion that what love I may find what love will
it do any of those in this day and time?
How to stop?! How to reason!?
The
arrogance and pride of monopolized crime but the pain inside sail forth
as a vessel upon a never ending sea of hopelessness and forgotten
dreams.
To feel the wind caress my lips and take my breath and
lend an ear to the ones in most need of a smiling tear who is it that
shall judge the means necessary by the degree of my higher plea?
Once
again find solace in the formless nature as we are to be and the
nurture of self for there is no one else to care or dream to even pay a
ticket, a fare or sit with gossip upon their mind. Sitting upon their
liars chair of jealous and envious plight and the dark shall be light!
A
precarious time to live and hear the resonant silence of love but not
know the ways in which to reason with the social taboo that is plague
upon this world. Hope, Love, Faith, whichever I see true in the end
for the sake of a picture better painted where there is no death and
there is respect for all things that is truly a day I will not see.
So upon a retrospect as I write this dialect with mine own self I have found maybe it is right, or maybe it is inner sight;
Just as it is may be the Ventriloquist who in silence....
Finds the inner peace in the sadistic future of mine own heart.
whose
pieces will forever reflect the endless sea as time passes the dust
shall settle and remain a refracted dream that never was and never will
be in this shameless world.
Love;
by:
Sebastciaun T. Censtcuriaus
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