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| Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 11-June 07:49:36 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 116131
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => The Mad Phrophet
[time] => 2006-03-09 12:42:49
[hometext] => I'm playing with the idea of making several different characters(i use that loosely) to see what they'll say ^_^ I had it in an easier format, but i don't understand html...so..
[bodytext] => On Judgment. It is always simple to still the benign and sudden thought that comes with memory; how we had laughed, how we, as children, ran. It is easier to look upon the soulless man and say, "you are wrong" than to see upon the good mans head, wicked intent. I am embittered by the sicknesses of man; yet, I suffer the same sicknesses. Who am I to deny my own depravity? Who am I to deny the indecent, amnesty? Am I not indecent? Am I not failed and fallen upon the very same stones? We are very much the same in that we betray our own hearts to satisfy the effluences of our own insufferable desire. On Madness. It is known to me that I am mad; that madness, in it's crystalline and blackest form, holds in its command, my thoughts. But it is in this madness that I have found a reason to keep living. For it is my madness that suffers me to contemplate upon these fragile moments that we, in our lives, hold in low regard. On Love. I remember love as one remembers their first taste of pain. A slight revulsion coupled with alleviation; a bitter fear lingering, becoming plain, absolving in the presence of relief. I have come to believe that love is born from pain. Not the damaging of nerves and flesh that is physical pain, but the pain that our spirits cry, the empty, lonely pain of desperation. On Freedom. To be bound is to be truly free. Among the many paths I've walked, none have I found that are more desolate than the passage of the free. It is in freedom that we loose upon ourselves, our desires, our need to indulge. The free man is fattened by his own lack of urgency. When there is no reason to struggle, no reason to strive for survival, we grow feeble. We are a spoiled fruit; the tree of life is rot and hollow. Let us once again tie the binds of choice. On Fear. Do you remember the darkness? How, as a child, you blanketed your eyes from the incoming tides of shadow, lest you surrendered your soul to the abysmal jaws of darkness. It is inherent, I think, to fear the place devoid of light. For as much as we scorn the sun, we are trembled sadness to the coming of the night. But fear not, for before there was light there was darkness, and the darkness was the breath of God. On Life. In every moment passing, our lives are redefined. I would like to say that I am embittered anger scorned screaming rage by the trials of my life, but even in these things, I am alive. I have seen many lives pass, many lives fall short. I have glimpsed the eyes of death, and I am glad to be alive. To say that... it does not hold the strength that it requires to continue, not only to live, but to have life. On God. To have life, is to have God. I cannot tell you that He is there, or that He will answer you, but I can tell you that He is a water unlike any that you have ever thirst for. There are so many that laugh in his name; that say, I know God, and He is blessed for me. But to know God is to know that you are lowly, to know that you are filth upon filth. It is to love with the knowledge that you are not worthy to love. It is to be bound by the freedom that you are granted. There are so many things to say that I cannot say. It is a choice of choices. To be free and bound, or to be bound by freedom. To live in laughter, and die. Or to be dead in life, and live thereafter. It is your choice. [comments] => 3 [counter] => 251 [topic] => 73 [informant] => iodinelove [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 4 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => abstract )
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