For the frantic ideas the lie sickly within a mad man’s mind
Riddle with empty words
And of words that which are silent
A veil that has been bent by nothing
Although of something everything is born
A loose translation encoded with profound secrets
Yet of those that are far from secrets
This is a poetic ranting
Of a soul lost to the truth, but a sense of ones finding
Therefore I ask
Can you understand…
That too long have we stared at the sky in vanity
So long have we been longing for our own sanity
It has become agonizing the hell of ignorance that we endure
All in the search for an unknown paradise…still..
Glory Glory
Will come from the trumpets of heaven
And this overbearing damnation will come to its end
But of the end what do I see
Streets of gold!
A loving God!
A heaven in our honor for repenting for our sins!
Hysterically do I laugh at this notion
For as much as I try to disprove this belief
The possibility is still there
As much of a possibility of it not being there
A consciousness needs nothing
Feelings also need nothing; they are just there
Energy bound to their own free will
Like a God or a Human
Even a flower understands this
What are we really…
An age old question I guess… still I search
One thing is certain though. Love can truly drive a man insane
~ Paradise Poet ~
