The Blood as it Curdles

I sit and ponder the melody of life.

The rhyme without reason.

The never-ending maze.

The journey through the mind.

The aimlessness within.

The constant cry– a slave have I become.

To live unfettered for one’s heart to be light.

I sing a song of despair.

Vagari– to wander.

The journey of the mind in our wondering we wander.

The cerebral arts.

One cannot think without one’s soul intact.

Because knowledge is a outstretched arm reaching towards God.

It removes man from his animal state it gives him wings.

But the misery of the soul the raging discontent.

Melancholy riddles the motivation within.

I have no fixed remedy.

My greatest enemy is my own.

I call him my brother but is he a friend.

He never leaves but does he mean well.

I wish to maim him by his very neck.

But how can I slay blood.

Is he not a part of me.

Is he not my very essence.

Do I embrace him.

I wish to help him fight the demons within.

But a multitude stands before us can we really win alone.

Should we grovel upon our knees in pathetic fashion

That our fathers in the heavens would turn their very heads in shame.

To be forlorn before God is one matter but to expose every vulnerability to man.

Does it not strip a man of his very being.

To wear no mask; to admit that a king is a pauper.

The saying is said that Pride cometh before destruction.

My hour is near.

Tis better for the captain to fall at his knees before his kinsmen.

To fight another day.

Then to forfeit the ship to strangers who wish death.

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