28 April '18
The measure of our joys and sorrows can be found in the confluence of the ocean and the desert. When they meet there is the exhilaration of pounding waves crashing onto silent sand! However, there is also the discontentment of an irreconcilable conflict in their eternal separation.
So be like the sea and the sand – go boldly into embracing both ecstasy and despair! Be enveloped by the beauty to be found in the contemplation of both faith and doubt!
I stand on liberty, moral eptitude, excluding reason, strangled by syntax, exacted presumptions on my shoulders, wishing to flee the cursed guest I take my tribute from. For I do not wish to be the beacon of Hercules, nor the burden of a goat. Sauce for the banquet of humility is of plenty, and I can douse my meager meal with envy too. There is no crash of morter as my pedestal collapses. No, it is only to be built again by conflicted hands. I must! And why not? Ill knock on the door of respite at my leasure. I decline to hail the Prince for the guilt of the ages.
The philosophy of men gifted with the eyes of children, who see the narrow to be vast, receeds in the shadows of ambiguity, and resides as a foothold on the travails of the intrepid.
The shallow grave of destiny denies the wolves of fate their morsel of enmitious fervour, but they dig in rapacious revel of this vacuous exon’s blanket of dust, a template of a universe’s empire, this mad with compulsion, exploding in chaos, perfect in rhythm, jesters folly kingdom of jackals. I fall to the way of the kings of Saturns victrol! Save for the speck of sand, I am not. The bones of glory are the stars that never shown bright.