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