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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