 |
| ...but then again it isn't Truth that matters, but only Victory. |
...and the living breathing unity of blood has died and dead has left these ambiguous places of fake hope and ideological misshapen baits for liars on the edge of Cosmic wilderness: there is no aquarian age worth waiting for nor to be had.
For surely all the cycles of Time are but a predestined cybernetic Zoo for the wild animals who've been caught in the tide of waiting for an Avatar, who free are now killed in the inertia we might call patience or is it the laziness to wait for what'll never come.
Act now my friend. ...you are that god that Christ has called into this forlorn and very deep well. It's your light and love, consecrates the sky and the earth!
But surely there is no chubby cherubinic pity for the warrior of God, and all that, is very well, and sure in showing to us who are willing to die for truth and god and love, just up to what stage in this theatre, God has forsaken this toilsome place where there could never be any hope worth wishing for!
AND THANK GOD ONCE AGAIN!
** * ** **
Where God has died, I am alive. In the next place next to nothing visible I live with a foot in the grave, regenerating my soul and the love of my Folk. But here, there is thankfully no consolation that could keep me here, hesitating on the brinks.
Death is a friend, gives me strength. Gives force and will to my kids. Is the hope of not of here, but as the future-present case is really kept far away in its gracious transcendental meaning, from the carnal and delusional and debasing intentions of those who as the living-dead feed on the lies of an invented past, and have disappeared from in front of my angry and pitiless regard!
In my Heaven there is no pity for devils. In that place the Krist is King and Lord.
...and yes, Social Care does indeed exist here in Hell, where the weak and uncomely rule with jealousy.
Ruthless with myself, I expect no compassion from no one but those who with sweetness fill their cups, have had their hearts split and put into shattered pieces on the turf of this world.
Yet the herd wanders aimlessly. Towards more and more inhumane standards of selfish conduct for the innocent lives they destroy. Stripping good men of their well founded pride to be themselves: if only they listen, without discernement.
The sword has struck the pith in the chest. The god within, a marvelous wild bird unknown, having no definition as yet to be found in any dictionary published; it has no known preconceived name that would call it to come forth amongst the prejudiced who see only what isn't truly there in the halls of secret heroes.
