Proof Surrounds Us All

Ironically, I am alive.
It is ironic if you look into it, not my being alive, but you.

The things we eat, how we drive, the conglomerate of ideas we have acted upon, the slew of information that abates our reason, and the reason for which without there would be, nothing really is known.

I speak not of the things that are apparent, the tree that stands before us perhaps, rather of the things we find opinion in.

We know the things that make a man, man. We don't necessarily understand what makes him masculine, but inasmuch as the capacity for reason exists, do we use it purposefully, of just in times of tribulation? The person whom in malcontent reaches out for opinion is bound to find the plethora that is individuality as it pours in rivers of confusion at our laps. If you can think of the waters of a river, in the form of a cascade or waterfall, on your lap flowing from above or on your lap dumping hundreds of pounds of opinion... do you think you can just reach into the waters, grab one chosen drop(s), and hold on to it? Or would the water squeeze through our hold, or worse yet, dissipate with the natural heat we radiate? Thus our lives are filled with the waters of many before us, whom in an attempt to clearly state their premise, others understood it to be a statement of fact. Whereas those who spoke without validation merely attempted to get it through colleagues, the meek minds that attend a forest of information can easily get lost. For those latter ones -to them- attest to the shadows that in unknown land came to them; they would be remiss of fact.

It is through fear that our attention shifts in order to obtain security if only for a moment. For if a person lost in the darkness of their surroundings gave in to fear, the wind-shook branches around them would be enough to cause catastrophic stress. In the same fashion, were it to be believed that the nearby wind pushing on those branches was merely the  much necessary air with which to breathe and keep calm then the situation would shift paradigms rather quickly.

It is the nature of humans to react. There are systems in place to help or prevent things in our surrounding from harming us. As the heart beats in solace of our egregious thoughts so do other systems impart their supposed matters upon us when they are supposed to. Would it be too much then to suppose that as the body, the natural statement of facts that is our prime example, performs so does every one thing in our environment which from nature too evolves. With systems in place as within the human body to act and react in their own time and timing to any surrounding data which imparts a type of change on them.

The observational folly of the untrained human eye falls to teaching and ascribing to new realities that simply are not, realities that impatiently proceed where a stop sign clearly marks the ways where to go while the way ahead remains blocked. The lack of preparation that is going forward fully missed while embarking often lead to the confusing and teaching of things that without their proper estate could never be. For a hand could not feel without nerves (however complex the system is), nor could nerves react without the limbic system or other neurons relaying information about the feelings we ought to have given the strata.

The simplicity of the matter is barred by reason. The ifs, whats, and whoms, of a predetermined answer riddled by the emotion-without-proof that is our believing of all the aforementioned things. Crass the nature of us humans in this epoch we live, where thought has become the opinion of others, with ours lurking on what the public fears or feels best ascribing to. The crime that is doing for doing forsaken by nothing today. Once the study of humans was as simple as seeing whether more men helped women pick up books dropped on a library floor. Today chivalry doesn't exist.

When chivalry is doing what God says is right, or what the state will not prosecute, there is a type of judgement that ensues which denounces chivalry of its merit. That takes us into the what is right of things and who exactly decides on it. As succinctly as can possibly be expressed, acting without reacting is no longer in our code. Whether you believe it to be a paradigm shift or something other, the observational proof surrounds us all.

True Life and Death

Perched upon the smallest tree on the alcove, dark gray feathered-wings around her body; the night caressing her white body as smoothly as the soft texture of the digits on her back. Gazing upon the lamentation of the boy, with a stare piercing his thoughts, looking deeply into the affection that brought them together. The affection of another which could not be... so often has this love for the utterances of the soul brought this ethereal being into the plains of humans.

Perched upon the smallest tree on a still branch that -with her- listens to the cries and gentle sobs of the disillusioned soul whom below with tearful eyes embraces the sentiment which brought the blade to such enamored hands. The flow of feelings from deep within, as well as the cold and wet hands holding destiny so dear are a sight craved and informally agreed upon to be the last will of anyone who upon it dares to find themselves.

Perched upon the smallest tree where destiny beckons reason to leave this place of solace and unjust darkness, where a gloom-filled heart tares away reason and lays a path upon the malice of our thoughts. Unbearable are the thoughts of loss which bring uncomfortable firmness to the hand which dearly craves for a finality most fear.

Perched upon the smallest tree now culling to the choices that to the eternal rest deem that quality of an individual's choices into the finality of all things. She feels the soft breeze dissipate as it comes close to her, as it dies before ever achieving a soft touch upon her silk-like skin; virgin to the touch of any living being, and foreign to the love she queries from below...

Perched upon the smallest tree without thought of conscience, or sentimental notion, neither with veracity nor dedication, and in most frailty without love. To steal the essence which upon her shadowy figure bestows life, yet below such terminal disdain bringing upon the most rational voice those who live posses. For it is now in darkness' veiled content that a wish for damnation is real and ultimate in its finality.

Perched upon the smallest tree like withering fruit in chaos living and now seeking to embark in one more charade...

Perched upon the smallest tree wings as dark as the night which bore them flight stretch out in a single motion, revealing the provocative vixen whom must now in the night's cold embrace, look upon the soul of this being one last time. To tear away the soul is her purpose, to ingest fear and steal the fruit which will further her existence... the love, the real love that now in blood leaves to never return. "Die, die now my child. To me yield that which you could not attain. Attain thence the merit of your upheaval."

Standing upon the very air which her wings drag, with dark wings outstretched in a sign of glorious conquer, just above the now still figure, she devours the love which entangled these two in affairs of true life and death.

To Hell

The darkened sky tells of the affair.
Smoke clouds rising like no prayer.
Battlegrounds of thoughts in slaughtered pain.
No blood, just opportunity falling as rain.

The darkened heart speaks a riddle.
To find oneself there in the middle,
battle for reason being lost at present,
never knowing what is meant.

The darkened voice in hoarse tones announced,
"death has come" the sound pronounced.
Everywhere the fallen are my soul,
the battle my essence stole.

The darkened vision through peril sees,
on mountains cold and through the breeze,
my body torn on bloody ground,
I died here, to this place bound.

The darkened mystery now clear,
through my chest the still and dirty spear,
no penance paid, just the solace in the stillness,
no apparent malediction or illness.

The darkened memory of it all,
I share with you as I fall,
I hear no choir, trumpet, or bell...
I feel nothing on my way to hell.

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For Grace
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