There the percussion hits the softest tenderness: a throbbing unending.
As a mounting darkness overwhelms the senses
The anvil rests heavy as the flaming swords are forged
The blades themselves burn at the edges, the only time the might save soul:
Cauterizing the wound at the instant so that the pain doesn't spill forward
But these blades will cool and turn the knife again: that the persistent anxiety;
The rudderless clouds pushing through the mountain's fog like blankets.
They come and go, bedsheets in the morning tent;
There's not comfort enough to keep still in this space.
The rudderless clouds pushing through the mountain's fog like blankets.
They come and go, bedsheets in the morning tent;
There's not comfort enough to keep still in this space.
Could one forgot all this nonsense? I won't go back and read the past.
The shame is a powerful caged pet that comes out only for the most intimate company.
The caged beast in the corner of the house that we feed tenderized emotions
Only to enrage the monster more. The blood as metaphorical as it is
Spills figuratively across the floor to everyone else's literal bewilderment.
All people must confront their discomfort and feed their pets of insecurity.
Lord No - not failures of perfection, not unsuccessful battles with success!
The confrontation with such opposition is, more or less, caged inside us.
The fibrous nutrition of love, nurturing a moral fiber - such imperfect science:
The human. Their first modern love story starts with a deus ex machina:
"Your imperfection!"... and now the rest of the movie.
Entertaining the mind is not captivating the senses, they are more acute
Freezing the tissue and locking the mind is the fortune of terror
A box of untrue secrets to broadcast across the brain:
The frontal lobe is reduced to a boxing match of logic and insecurity.
The resulting fear - the unspoken fight or flight of anxiety.
The shrunken violet against the burning bush.
The botany of existence as to what the matter is.
Of course the question also sounds like, "What is the matter?"
Alas, the question for humans still isn't, "What matters?"
Science which asks what we see is hard work
Seeing what science can't see is God's work
God's work has always been the unimaginable
With hard work the unimaginable is always more imaginable
We can always imagine. If we can do the unimaginable then what is God?
The unimaginable? Or only the imaginable?
Do you want a god or do you want to be God?
Do not bore the audience with the details. The writer knows this.
The miracles aren't just what they want - the audience.
They want to see the miracle, again and again and again...
Like the tiresome anxiety that blasts at the back of the brain
Again and again again, a caged animal trapped in the same cycle:
Overwhelming anxiety and impossible miracles again and again and again.
Again and again again, a caged animal trapped in the same cycle:
Overwhelming anxiety and impossible miracles again and again and again.
When the humanity scurries under a rock and hides.
