TimGod's blog: "Writings"

As blind as justice in a world of black and white washed truth. Shades of gray overcast right from wrong, wrong from right; the difference between day and night. Sifting through moral and ethical standards for the precise fit, in faith that hope still is rewarded. So please won’t someone speak to me, The Prayer of Dawn. Old story told again; boy meets girl. sweet nothings whispered as tender flesh joins. Passion’s fire bridges the gap between loins, and somewhere betwixt sultry looks, flirtatious giggles, and teasing caresses, two hearts open; another love’s born. Time passes as is its wont. Passion’s fire still burns in an exchange of glances, so on bended knee, he asks for her eternity. Please, I adjure her, sing to me the Twilight Serenade. Peaceful reflection on times gone by, before time bent what was straight into creaking old bones and rained snow down on once raven locks. In memories a bit more fuzzy than before; everything greener, cleaner, better in days of yore. “I remember when” he says, gazing off at the horizon and seeing only shades of yesteryear playing across his mind like an old time picture show. Wisdom gained and imparted for a new generation sitting on his knee, in trust that the future will flourish free from mistakes of erstwhile forefathers. So listen close as it tell you the Moonlight Lullaby.

Disparity slowly creeping, as insanity starts seeping, leaking into new reality. Leaping off to crash, in splendid fragility. Pushed against the rocks, contentious torrents of thought raging in a sea of madness. Cracked the center of reality, splinted visions of personality. Hunger driving each word, acting on the urge, the need, for affection on which to feed.

Turn the key and hit the gas, on a one way trip over the hills to your valley. Gears grind and crank the shaft. My motor’s revved and pistons pumping. Engine’s redlined, pedal’s to the floor white-knuckled grip glued to the wheel. 3000 revolutions a minute sitting only six degrees from dead tap center. Crash and burn, live or die, only thing matters is the ride.

Others look on in envy, wishing they could be there, sitting there in your circle, universally adored and admired, feeling superior to your fellow man on false assumptions of your pride. recycling broken wisdom steeped in vintage lies served as fresh truth to dazzle the gullible toadies who hover like flies. With your heads stuck up one another’s asses, co-dependently circle-jerking your self-esteem into inflated egos of fragile defenses against reality. But pardon me if I don’t wish to be one of you. I’ve never been one prone to join mass self-delusion; I’d rather be alone.

Memories calling to us, like echoes down the hallways, traipsing through the rough-hewn corridors of shallow minds. Tainted now forever more, by the sting of betrayal. Bitter sweet the taste, of the joy and sorrow shared. Now that the time has come to put away the toys of the past, we cling desperately to, what’s no longer within our grasp.

Cool breezes' playful sensations, flowing over each smooth curve. The soft sigh of respiration, reveling in the rewards I observe. Tangy taste of light perspiration, faint gasps tripping an acoustic nerve. Carnal delights' own sampling station, greedily devouring the hors d’oeuvre. As we enjoy our temptations, we get exactly what we deserve.

Version1 Race of hatred and fury at home Infinitely feeding itself on your pain He, who goes, goes alone. to carry the shard of the broken life. strangled by the sequence of destiny tortured plays of God’s own spirit. hello to the bottom market of search for curses To finally gain your reward right Version2 Race of hatred and fury of a reality; Infinitely feeding itself on your pain. He, who goes, goes alone; to carry the essence of an imperfect world. Stifled by the sequence of destiny, tortured plays featuring God’s own spirit. hello to the bottom market of the search for curses; To finally gain your moral reward?

What was, is no more, lost to life’s reality. Hollow shell encased empty core. Deconstructing the base morality, seeking a reason for action. To return to a sense of normality. All is but another distraction, from this painful introspection. We now return to our featured attraction. Pause now for a moment of reflection, tracing the lines of fate. at least as to your best recollection. Trying once again to clear the slate, return again to past purity. When we still believed in a soul mate. Haunted by one’s insecurity.