Happy birthday friend.

Showers upon our shoulders give sign that the weight above us was such that rain was necessary, for we are not the only ones that carry a heavy burden. What others trail is a magnificent air of hope that showers those around them like the mist of a tall waterfall splashing on rocks. Yet, there are those whose world view is so unique and powerful, so immersive, powerful in the sense of purity that overshadows all fears and problems, issues and troubles of all who come in contact with them. They, those few truly are a force upon the Earth. Among them there is truth, yet not banality. There is wisdom, yet no cascading pearls that splash everyone in the eyes like eyelids stuck between the eye and skin. Their sanity is part of what makes them unique, for they partake in the sadness of those around them, yet lift them just by being present, for that gift is theirs. How lucky am I to know one such soul, to have one such spirit qualm the sadness that erodes the person I could have been into a patient someone... how lucky truly to see Jean-Michel celebrate another birthday when unbeknownst to him we celebrate his whole life.

What is vengeance.

She wept. The soot on her hands, this had to be the work of demons. no human person could burn her mother.
The winter was cold. The lake was frozen, earlier this year due to some weather phenomenon going on. The children took to the ice to try and pry sticks that from the nearby trees fell and stayed upright in the freezing water. The little ones were fun to watch. After they fell especially. For a moment, they looked just like a turtle flipping their legs about and wailing like a mad banshee. The most amazing of things happens from time to time, and that's when you should be watching, because that's when the Devil's got ya, they stop, and in solemn peace turn over. This figuring out of life is for what my mother burnt at the stake.
The summers were all the same. Quiet. Nothing happened in the ravine. Generally used to water the horses and take the clothes to be washed, a bit further downstream, it was filled with all manner of green bush. Mama always plucked the leaves to and from a few of the bushes, careful not to touch the flowered ones, just the leaves. There was talk you know, I was little'ler then but the missus, she hid me in the pantry where the potato sacks and flour were kept and I could hear them city folk talk their talk. All hush hush about how mama was a witch.
We never went to church. That church building, beautiful as it was, all white with that nice little T on top that no one ever told me what it was for, Temptation or something, was just too damn far, pardon my there words. Some good-for-nothin' judge presided over the matters of the Lord, or so I was told. Jeremiah something or other. He comes over one rainy Sunday, mom had just put the supper pots away after we cleaned them good, when the Mister walked unto the porch demanding to see mama. Now, mama, from the rooster plucking worms from under the fat man's beautiful, nice, black and white, mud-covered shoes, to the roof over they heads, she owned it. Oh yes. My daddy done good. He was a Marshall and done caught many an animal, I shouldn't say that, but he ain't he'a. With the proceeds bought this here estate, the land, mules, oxen, stable, hands' quarters, and left good monies at the bank in town. Now come this he'a city-ation, because this trouble belongs to the city, I don't know why they gotta come bother us folk out he'a in the country, to take my Moma away...
All this soot, this is my Moma. What is vengeance?

Ask the bee

Yesterday's avarice found place in a meeting before death. I found solace in knowing we had something in common. Avarice alone could not have summoned me to that dark alley of my life. There, there in the gloomy atmosphere of the glade hid love. I lost it all to love. How odd, that one must first love, then lose, and through loss commit the most atrocious of oddities pondered by anyone, all in the name of reason nonetheless.
When we are lost we aren't weak, we are merely seeking vengeance, for the time in our lives that we let ourselves be conned to that degree which leaves us perplexed and utterly useless to anyone, especially ourselves. How, I ask myself, how can a person endure the depths of this abyss and come out stinging anything knowing full-well that first stinging will be the last? It's a matter of principle is what it is. See, it's not the action. It's not the sting itself, it's the desire not to harm, but to rather die than let that action go without a reaction. In a world where every action is met with reaction and often disdain perhaps we need a bee to teach us a thing or two about humility, about what it is to truly live and let others choose without ill will, to allow choice without regard for what will never affect you directly, and most importantly, to allow the overwhelming odds against us to stack up for in choice we will make the right one and die trying. Ask the bee.

Let us

I traversed a series of thoughts today rapidly dashing atop the rapidly shifting surface, timid to slip into my nightmares, and eager to reach new frontiers. No sooner could I have reached my destination when unforseen barriers emerged from the emptiness of thoughts deeply buried I years of seclusion and lies built upon a mountain of success that note crumbling shows that all the effort amounted to nothing more than rubble when upon a lie it had been built. Subsiding now, the agony and walls of failures' hurting mist, I see a path laid before me which I fear for it is new, differing from all the ones I have come to master because this one is true.
To begin, anew, setting brick by brick a foundation that should have now been a monument of life's accomplishments is hard work. Every drop of sweat a reminder of how hard the fall was... yet this new edifice, this new foundation laid in full with the knowledge that hard work is what really matters, that the value of those around us cannot be overlooked and most importantly that nothing is in vain. If I learn anything from this life is that my neighbor is not perfect and neither am I, I will humble myself to learn from my mistakes and to understand how they succeed after having fallen. For if In being human we err then we too must accomplish. Let us.

Today's of the Past

The sensation of pain is... the norm.  The days so close together make an enigma of what life is to be lived, yet one must go on to the next day knowing what is to come, without a doubt of what to expect, as if life were predetermined... an abyss of knowledge that leaves one in perpetual aberrant dismay, troubled by the knowledge that tomorrow brings what today's remnants could not complete. Holistic pain and the unbearable reality that today is no better than tomorrow when yesterday is as most today's of the past.

Mystery of the sea

I excited the station promptly after breakfast. I inspected the submersible as instructions dictate although I had been out merely hours before. On my last run I noticed something faint near the small rock formation where the angler fish usually roam. The object was far and I only saw when returning, but today I go there first. Small blinking lights light the way. Every few dozen meters a new light appears. At first down here I thought I was hallucinating. I wouldn't report or ask about the lights. One day while discussing floor vents and other areas to avoid exploring, as to not disturb the residents like tube worms, they mentioned a small population of angler fish living and concentrating near those rocks. The relief, I thought I was having some sort of underwater meltdown or something. Back up to, on the surface I mean, I do recall talk of giving myself time to adjust to life in the dark. To allow for life to come to you, appear before you, or simply try to swim away. However, I discovered the latter not to be much of a problem. After all, fish need their energy down here for more important things.
Few were the creatures that came to explore the lights in the midst of all the black. Beautiful really, the range of life that ranged from tiny to small or large to very large. There seemed to be no in between. Most life here was devoid of color, things that floated were usually attacked or had something attached to them. Then, I finally made it to my mystery. A large gelatinous creature that when the light hit it right glowed or rather shined in the peculiar way metal does, giving way to my imagination to believe there was more there than there really was.
On to the next mystery of the sea.

Of Us

I strayed from the path momentarily in the middle of the nighty. I simply sought refugee from prying eyes that while glowing pierced the veil that protected me to reveal what subterfuge had managed to keep hidden just beyond. I wore an outfit black as the night that protected me, yet I fooled not a being that native to those parts recognized all too easy my camouflage. What lied ahead was no surprise, demise is always at my corner, in plain sight with the guise of generosity and carelessness biding its time to inevitability. I made no sounds. I breathed lightly as to not break the silence that welcomed my escape from the unknown. I stepped with ease as to not overwhelm with my weight whatever I should step on should noise feel it necessary to make its presence known. I know not of the ways or methods to any madness, but mine begun during my nightly walk, as I stepped off the path. I learned nothing in the one thing to be learned. I learned that the methods used, the care taken, the emphasis placed, and the ideas that bring them together are as week as the frailty behind every one of us.

Circumstances Affect

My age is irrelevant.
I said that at 13, again at 25, 37...
How irrelevant?
No one ever asked. There is great concern in how right we are, how wrong we are, how much we do, how much we have achieved, how many helped, what inclusions do you have here or there, but never peace. The race towards death has become a monolith in itself. This one represents all the things that are wrong with humanity.
Seldom in nature -humankind being part of nature until robotics transcend us- do you see any being, creature, formation, or other thing belonging to the former alone. Is there a reason for it? Truly, I do not know nor dare attempt a search. On the basis of the things that have existed, matched and compared with those in existence today, I cannot speak for what no longer is, but can rightly say that delusions carry the nature of a being into the submission of being interested in living. For if there was a thing to learn about something that no longer is, perhaps the secret is not in the successes that drove it to extinction, the failures that narrate its demise, but the circumstances wherein every situation turned unto itself could have had a most favorable or decadent outcome; perhaps our answers lie therein lurking in the light we stare at with little wonder for what lies inside merely because we know the outcome of starting into the light, the blindness that it will cause, thus truncating the glimpse that could have otherwise been the true light for ever extinguished.
I am a being of many tongues and not because of the languages I speak, the truths I believe I know, or the present understanding of the unraveling of scenarios. I am a being of many tongues not because of a physical property that can be used as a partial excuse for alienation. I am a being of many tongues merely because I say so.
I am not what I say, become what I think, or manifest what I imagine, to do that I would have to control...too many variables. I exist, I live, I think, I help, and then I coward. The things I teach my brother today, through the eyes of circumstance, no matter how plain, true, transparent, or simple, will become the intrinsic web of lies we stumble on day in and day on because it does fall on someone else once we live and leave the picture. Too easy do we go about life making decisions without making them, taking responsibility, but not taking responsibility, because for every moment lived, how many lives do we touch and thus circumstances affect!

Succeed

I need a diversion from my life.
A line into being.
Choose to discover where no more seems to be.

I need meaning.
The things I do need completion.
Endeavors undertaken rising above suspicion.

Astute, the bird flies away.
Quick, the chipmunk lurks.
Design flaw that I should require cunning.

Foreign desires of the heart.
Grave, from beyond prying into the living.
Asunder the will required to succeed.

Desire for Adventure

Great, vast, and expansive seas carry me in currents true to unknown lands. Present me with fruit, large or small, with tastes bitter or sweet that will sustain a human for as long as existence remains. I plea not to the sea, merely speak my thoughts plainly into wind as without them my journey would be a fools errand. In this journey my plan always was, where there was none, a way forward, without much in the way of provisions, or a plan should sickness strike do I sail into the thick of this serene blanket that could not have been painted more beautiful on a canvas or permitted wall.
I, deprived of all, oh and how I miss not many things, can sing praise to the fish below me perhaps questioning the nature of my arrival, or if perhaps I shall be food by day's end.
Vast indeed and empty of pretensions, the liquidity available is bountiful yet somewhat unreachable without certain means. I yearn to seek, to reach, but mostly to discover the means. What a life, to think moments ago I slept quietly, being rocked by the waves, perhaps in a moment's notice a tsunami may end my journey and I will end at Poseidon's door. I will knock quite loud and ask for access. If asked why I wish to proceed I will merely express my desire for adventure.

By Thinking

Reckless, yet iconic, every attempt to usurp the law instilled carries with it a background hard-lived, hard-wired to the senses. Things are done in an automated fashion rather than a thoughtful one. Though this may sound a lot like routine, I speak more deeply, attempting to address the recesses of human interaction. Because, I dare not speak in such a way in such a place, or act in such a way, or dare be seen in such a state. The choices we make riddled with the memory of previous instances recalled alike the present one, what are they? The senses activate to tell us that similarity is perhaps best answered in kind especially when intertwined events -by nature, relation, past experience action, or others- come upon us.
It is with great disdain yet desire that I act in similar fashion. Whereas we are all different, act, behave, think, see, and understand things differently, especially due to the circumstances surrounding an event, we are similar in that we want resolution. It seems that in the wanting of that solution rests an underlying problem which presents itself in every similar situation. This problem is one that we carry at the gene level and one we must assess if we can surpass our own biology in this design. The problem is repetition. Whereupon we reach a problem that has had a positive resolution in the past and in the present we are bisected by the similarities a current problem shares with a previous...instead of giving the new problem the full spectrum of thought we felt was important the first instance, we instead apply a shortcut. We use either the same solution as before or one very similar.
Does the imperfection of wanting to resolve conflict through shortcuts make us less civilized? Would it be more beneficial to treat every situation as a new one? How much are we growing as individuals and subsequently through life if we do not attempt to further hypothesize beyond that which is already behind us?
Sure, we can continue to drink water from a cup because it is what we have done for centuries if not longer, but the lack of motivation to think about  drinking water, or ways in which to accomplish the task halts the innovation of methods which to use in order to facilitate things, events, etcetera.  This is, I believe a charade we willingly participate in.
We must break the cycle and emancipate ourselves from our archaic methods of thinking and begin to think once more. It is one thing to do something better by improving current methods of use, but another altogether innovate.
A lot of scientific discovery happens by accident, let's begin to discover by thinking.

Such a life

The pain I feel, the endless, invisible state of agony that resides in me beats me down daily. I am defeated. The restless desires that once permeated my brain with dreams of adventure are all but empty shells now. The only desire I have, besides death, is that the pain today is more bearable than yesterday. The only desire these days are not to be visited by folk, whether they be repair people, family, or others, as they only serve to judge with blind eyes. I am the irony behind the healthy individual whose actions while warranted, common, or normal seem all except commonplace. I yearn the chance for normality afforded to everyone else and a reason for why I have been chosen to lead such a life.

I think

There are a number of transgressions we've all committed that at one point in or lives we wished it had gone a different way. With deepest regards, best of intentions, complete neglect, and full ignorance we jumped into the decision that caused injury, harm, or mental trauma to someone other with us to be rightfully blamed for it.

Have you never hurt anyone? Can you not clearly see the point exposed above? Can you somehow manipulate your thoughts out of inclusion into the guilt of acceptance?

We are but human puppets. The strings, manipulated, handled, and ultimately positioned in the chosen way by no one other than ourselves. There is no external force making your decisions for you, making you act one way or another, and definitely not doing things for you. We have the reigns in this here ride to our predetermined destinies: death. Yes, the question has been answered, is the future known?, where are we headed?, all those unknowns in death rightly fulfilled.

I accept my failures, not as a failure, but as the pedestal from which to rise to the next element that will help me achieve my destiny with the eloquence of no more transgressions. For I am human, ergo I think.

What we see.

Bright.
Content with the illusions I have for the day I will succeed.
Bright.
The genuine thoughts leading to the grand ideas that allow for our continued success flow.
Bright.
The echo of ideas that long ago began without form today morphs into the ideal schematic, which in turn will bring about the fulfillment if a dream.
Bright.
Success is not measured by our ability to succeed, but rather our ability to follow the commands leading to most beneficial outcome.
Bright.
Darkness cannot overcome where desire flows despite the failures which drive the human heart to better themselves.
Bright.
All is bright in darkness' sweet repose.

What is brightness?
I can understand nothing. This blinding brightness dulls my senses. Reason must leave us in order for comprehension to be attained. That is not to say that reason shouldn't return by the time we reach our answers. Blind is blind. Do not forgo the senses, merely understand what we lack in what we see.

Our Mistakes

I seek permission to act in such a way as to not offend anyone.
Will all religions allow me rightful and righteous freedoms as a person in order to achieve that equality?
The existing dogmas and paradigms assigned to populations in different parts of the world, will they clash or come together in order to appease the human right to live?
I insist that although individuality will play a role in the outcome, the force with which change will first emerge and later begin to supplant fear should be enough to bring tranquility back into the equation.

I seek permission because of hate, misunderstanding, deeply held misconceptions, pride, the inability to see past one's own wants, the persecution of our fellow human-kindred, and lack of knowledge. We are hostages of our beliefs, detained by the unrelenting desires that never materialize, and by dreams that farfetched as they are we rather trample those before us than give them a hand in the event they could help us with.

I am at the mercy of myself, because I ask permission understanding fully and quite well the deceptions that harden our hearts as adults, the fears that as children mold us, and the inability to see past our mistakes.

Let us communicate.

Why don't we sit around the fire telling the tales of our families while our village/town lies in the dark of night?
Why don't we walk miles to get grain and seed for our meals, while carrying trade goods of our own on our backs anymore?

So many today point at others trying different things without a care in the world of how incredibly foolish they look. They also look for like-minded folk to share their passions with, in an attempt to incite emotions, perhaps even revolution... once again, why not then get on the wagon with the horse that hasn't the proper shoes fitted for the duress of the trip about to take, and weight about to haul, and get-on-up to town right quick to get supplies? Yeah, that's what I thought, it's easy to point the finger and talk without actually having to think about what one says.

The current mindless argument being: children awarded or rewarded for all activities no matter how mundane. The previous, raising children with respect, rather than with fear. The curious saying: "to each their own" comes to mind. Once upon a time children hunted or helped with the fur and fields. Later, children went to school, attend to family matters, to include the family business. Time passed and children are taught to make a good life for themselves by way of studying. Through and through life changes with the times around it, the advent of machinery and technological booms make for the obsolescence of what was once important incredibly real.

I cannot teach my child the rules of the road asking him to share the roads with horse buggies or coaches, no, I have to teach him about the importance of safety in the age of self-driven vehicles. Why then can't the morality of humanity switch, grow, morph, and be more civilized? I too understand that to a person of low values, morals, and ethics, this is a subject very hard to comprehend.

Let us not focus on facts, studies, or propaganda, let us instead use an old lesson... let us communicate.

So Much Evil.

Nature's breeze has blown knowledge our way today . Anything is possible.
I understand through the gentle touch of nature's soft-freezing finger that decades ago, the lesson I didn't understand, which was followed closely by the raging winds of a cloudy afternoon which aided in my dropping my bag, later resulting in me missing the bus...you get the point. All in all, the same breeze today reminds me of the lesson and now, I can capture with ease the meaning of something that I hated so passionately due to its apparent complexity. Thus, nature's breeze...

I lament having to remember such moments which serve no purpose. To idle in life's memories is a task of such detrimental return. No new knowledge is gained from participating in the nostalgia of what is lost to us. Even if we could find the remains of the clothes people wore during the sinking of the Titanic we simply don't wear those heavy itchy clothes anymore, because things always change.  It is because of that change that we become better. Looking at the past...simply a waste of good time, unless of course that's your thing like collecting stamps, watching a documentary, reading a book for the third time, or drinking beer, maybe play video games... we all do something is what the last sentence purports. I crave the vanity that is our lives as we live them not as we wish they may have been lived, that is how lust, envy, and other more troublesome issues arise. Generally the present carries very little within, however it is the premeditated intent carried into the future from starting into the past that begets so much evil.

The Truth Really Is

Beyond an omission of what would mark an event as whole or complete, what is a lie?

Opinion aside, the intent to wrongfully misguide others into understanding an event from a perspectives that omits details is a lie. The omission of detail often comes from the defamation of character that would result from the omitted details resulting in a different circumstance and altogether tail. To have multiple accounts of an event, all true, is no loophole. In a club shooting where the perpetrator stands on the stage, faces the crowd while grabbing the microphone and saying "say your prayers" before shooting, the truth will depend on the circumstances surrounding the person at the time of the event. Where they stood in relation to someone else, how clear or not sound was, how involved the person was at the time in question, and etcetera. Thus, it is clear that similarities will exist, but we all are different in the way we perceive our environment. A colorblind architect may obviate details in their description of how the doors were clearly not up to code, that an artist may find particularly unimportant when describing the Exit sign you could hardly see because of the black light in the club. This is why the truth is so important; this is why we sometimes must see the truth as truth and not as a means for personal gain. We never know just how important the truth really is.

Moral chasm

Sacrifice is attached, how odd, to the connection of someone or something other to our desire to not part from their side. This desire is then replaced by the emotion generated out of the terror an event brings into our lives. How little must we believe ourselves to be when we would rather support sacrifice than the continuation of ourselves. Were we really great people this wouldn't come into view. Were I an outstanding member of society, exerting moral qual to all actions taken, all words spoken, and all thoughts written or shared then the former, sacrifice, would never be a part of any sentiment reaching any type of moral chasm.

1

Abrasive sounds, scorching wind
lead me not through the voices
for my offer I will not rescind
no matter, what are, your choices.
2
Creatures slowly turning, the night
slow decay permitted to go by
a disease scared on its flight
cures make illnesses die.
3

Furious wind, in cholera engulfed
bring me the dying silver star
so that this enigma is resolved
and I can go on to live with this scar.

4
Precipice halt your long echoes
needed they're not tonight
I need to hear the voice of those
who cannot speak their plight.

...and calming

There is a treatise of beguiling disgust which we attend daily, give praise and oratory remarks, and seldom complain about. One could only aspire to such grandeur in a life's tenure over the apocalyptic take-over that is -to some-this life's reincarnation over this decrepit monolith that carries us about like workers a wheelbarrow... to ensure the grand finale of this daily spectacle it is paramount to know the one whose monologue empowers the desires to return after every engagement. If I were to attempt to achieve anything through mere contemplation the task would become ever-so-incredibly daunting due to our innate ability to survive. It is not about not having fun anymore, it is about understanding the measures in which fun can be had with more ease due to experience rather than the mere platitudes of jumping into the fray and behind one's own buffoon. Without court and yet with a grand stage the jester in our lives with freedoms failed taunts the muse of those whom in complete disregard merely wish to explore the darkness of the unknown that no longer hides a thing from us. This leads to the repetitive nature of humanity, the inability to truly comprehend advancement, and ultimately helps us realize our fear of our dreams becoming a reality; we spend so much effort in trying to convince when listening takes less time and often is more peaceful and calming.

Guile

Gustatory desire, like a trapped thought in the abyss of lust for a hunger that can never be satiated I bring you desperation. In your ambition, for the mutilation of the ever-growing fear that begets a type of salvation too well-known to be desired, you fail to conquer your ambitions. If one is ever to succeed then one must succumb to the irony that is the determination of others, the lack of empathy from others, and the all too real altruistic motive to step over those ahead and below you in order to rise above and to the top.
The mere fact that our family lies in the ruins of our torpid torment as if waiting for the lamentations of the past to become; metamorphosis of the senses in ways never begotten, for it is in the savoring of that moment that the fashion which comes from understanding all which lies within our power loses all, gains nothing, and dies.
It is within us to overcome, to in a moment's flight perceive the will and understand the notions that make us who we are. Yet, the banal attempt to succeed allows us yet once more to continue in our human endeavors for just another day.
I lack not the desire for more, but refuse to accept that it was not desire , will, or determination that drove me here , but gull.

Our Nature

Destined to revert to the basic notions that drive us, are we really evolving? 
Destined to find obstacles surpassed by our ancestors with varying degrees of similarity, yet equal in the measure of effort that must be granted to them, we fail due to our lack of attention to the former in its native form: a whisper, a sentiment, a lament, a yell, and sometimes just a talking-to. We derive not the intended meaning, but the understood meaning based on the desires that drive us, based on the moment's feeling whether they are of ire or felicity. We are doomed to submit our failures to the next generation by mere failure to comprehend that the delivery of that message was devoid of understanding, an understanding that carries with it the essence of the individual's current state of affairs, mood, and a semblance of their attitude toward the current situation. The enabling factor not being the message in itself, rather the desire or necessity to listen which beget a strange behavior or insolence and restitution upon the listener to contrive ways in which to ignore the present and through seldom characteristics drawn from the event react.
I am no longer in a position to clearly object to any notions of agreement or the opposite, nor through the use of marionette's limbs or any other device construct a bridge that can in any manner suffice as the tool which can drive meaning or from which it could be derived.
It is as if our view is a concave whole where everything falls just half right, and the other half is filled with the present we avoid to acknowledge as happening simultaneous to our endeavors.
I feel as if the meaning of life is not in the ever perplexing secrets we wish to unravel in nature, space, and the unknown, but rather in investing oneself in living, letting live, and through the use of knowledge gathering and sharing as much as we can; it is often that it is not those we wish listened that receive an intended message, but the message helps others in kind. The perpetual nature of life is not in that we live and die, but that there are many things we cannot deny that are more than just our nature.

Selective Attentiveness

Fragile, life's subjects we are. Frigid in thought, yet docile in every facet of our domestic endeavors. How we fear the failure of our attacks on the morality of others while falling pray to our wily ways and indecisiveness. We crave an existence of perfection without reflection. We seek moments in which to ravage life not because of our affront on immorality; we live rather comfortably in complacency.

I live through my farce

I die.
Not in the literal sense, but I do actually.
Confounding.
I awoke, in the bathroom decided to smile at the mirror.
The reflection, a happy individual I seldom recognize brought about the most interesting of thoughts: I die. In that I die, there lies not the realization of something never before begotten, for that has always been in the forefront of every action. No, therein lies the culprit of a life lived in the seclusion of reason and in the irony of the darkness that is the human capacity for thought.
I die, in that I die I realized that it is not the fear of death that encapsulates my thinking process rather a desire to submit to a relentless feeling of mourning for those moments in which I failed as a brother, friend, husband, father, son, and stranger among others.
The worse thing I have been on this Earth is a stranger.
I have been-become the incarnate memento mori of my own desires, where being reminded of my platitudes as an individual is merely enough to bring one down back to the forefront of one's life.
I cannot continue with the banality of this penance without first acknowledging the faults I have committed, the transgressions upon my fellow humans for which I hereby apologize with great humility, for I am nothing more than your mirror in this existence; a puppet of life's many errs with a costume of happiness draped over the smile reflected back at me this morning telling me to confess!
I do, I do profess my individual part in this fault and flaw in living I have committed and thus take with discontent and ire-agony to the page this litany, this plight for forgiveness for all those actions which I may or have committed against you and yours for which I had no control over. I abhor the actions that made me who I am, I commend the human that I have become, and I glorify a future in which this person can with all learned thrust upon the world the irony that is living, for I live through my farce.