The right action sometimes hurts as we relinquish the will to see it completed. Watching sediment and ink draining from calloused hands we force ourselves to remember. Spinning mechanisms to figure how to pull them apart as they nearly threaten our existence. Fingers of emotion probing deep into the clasped circumference clawing. prying them to separated skies. Knowing my frailty to complete tasks that challenge all aspects of my worldly plan. I am left in my own footprint staring down at the pain I’ve self created.

The joy that some things may never be forgiven or excepted. Not by will or threat, but steeped in the promised love of hope. Together we looked to greater plans. Knowing ourselves pawns, challenged by the plausibility of motion. Steadily growing towards the corner of new lands born of acquiescence in learning. What then of the included pain of conscience or coincidence? As we are found among the forsaken bereft of life and heart.

They will kick open all the garage doors of the universe to quell their pain. Ignoble ideas founded that somehow the silence will forget them. Testing every concept no matter the danger to make a name their Fathers had refused them. Cauterizing themselves from the pain they’ve created as they convince themselves they pursue nobility and truth. Tasting, testing yearning for existence to bring into life the dreams beyond the dark quarter.

But what of my animus and the painted salve guarding flames that would consume awaited nightmare? Heart sizzling like gristle tongued by the edge of fire undistinguished. Beneath Giza and the realms of untold story they would have us simply compelled by unbelief or reason. Am in contempt of self writing to an imagined audience of one or many? These are not the simple obstacles of thought and reason left in array to impede your understanding.