The Pattern

A wispy strand hangs in the air
It is the recurrence of one
Hung on the dimly lit walls
Of the blackest dungeon.
On the rough ground,
A pool of ink seeps from the mound
Of splintered bones and shards of glass.
Once a room filled with silken folds,
And seductive aromas,
Now an open grave, filled with skeletons.
Naught but one open window,
The bars providing a narrow escape
For the bird with fluttering heart
That beats rapidly with feathered wings.
There is no life in that place,
Yet it draws those who do not seek it.
It claims the weak
Shaking newfound resolve into nothingness.
The repetition, beyond the point of deja vu
I fear the approach of that beast,
I know its footsteps all too well,
And yet here I stand, waiting to be devoured.
Now it is over,
The iron clad gates clang shut,
Reverberating throughout the castle of my mind.
And the spider begins building its web again.

The Reverse Progression of Boundaries

It was written, devoid of human perception
That boundaries would be smashed,
Into glittering shards of light
Seen on a tiled floor, solidified in an image.
A thought, that the shade of light would not exist
Except for its counterpart of shadow.
Such is the universe when it is seen.
If there is the material, there is the immaterial.
Through logic, every possibility has a counterpart
And every dissection of the whole results in a component,
Until the core has been reached, and its opposite is found.
Here is where simplicity supposed to start,
Yet the complexity only increases,
And whether in reverse, or in forward progression,
Each dimension seems larger.
Nonetheless, the center would
Reasonably have a mathematical value of zero
If only for the sake of symmetry.
And yet the world cannot be compressed into one line of sight
One perspective may never encompass the entirety of the universe
And only one knows it in its completeness.
Perhaps then, to say that it is complete with regard to current definition
Would be severely lacking.
For the unfathomable vastness of the universe and all it contains
Is unable to fit in any sort of constraints,
Save that of our mind,
And that is only out of sheer necessity.
Take, for an instance, art.
Its definition is still subject to debate,
Especially as to what it encompasses.
Indeed, the universe itself, down to the last subatomic quark,
Is a masterpiece in and of itself.
And here are we, the conscious minds at the center of it all
Attempting to comprehend ourselves, to create order
Sectioning each experience and perception into a category,
Yet still conscience of the entire canvas.
If we did not have this knowledge,
This cognitive outlook at our surroundings,
Would we then be no more than
Ants scurrying about on the surface of the planet?
Perhaps these musings are no more than the face
Of another waste of time.
Regardless of the perspective from which it is seen,
The implications of time are those of movement, of progression
Perhaps my time would be better spent
Studying the institutions of society
So that I may endeavor to make a more lasting impression on people
Until the day I die.
As opposed to writing unimpressive words
On an unreasonably low traffic blog.
Perhaps I fool myself into thinking
There is some self-fulfillment to be had,
And like so many other things, it is an illusion.

One in a Million

We are a generation
Caught in furious storms of change
Plowing through a time
When every complexity of the common man
Is stamped on a piece of paper
Pallid leaves rustling, swirled about in fitful breezes
Hands reaching high, clutching at the sheaves
While the jobs hover above us
And we must climb to reach ascent
To scale the heights, we must be equipped
The degrees our ropes and our picks
There is the cry to ascend
Lest our society remain at the foot of the mountain
And the rest of the world would pass it by
Onward and upward, we must persevere!
No longer the days of farming, or of long hours at the cafe
We must press on to heights
Unbeknownst to those who came before
Never content to remain entrenched
On the plateau below
We have the drive, the determination
Needing only the tangible fuel
The support of our leaders who paved the way
With this, our vigor is unmatched
Scaling the mountain
We are one in a million

Mesmerizing degradation

Deep shadows creep across a room,
Naught but a single ray of light
An illuminating stream through the crevice far above
Cascading through floating particles
Caught in the density of space
Falling softly to the floor.
Velvet petals mellifluously glowing
One crystal drop suspended in motion
Amidst razor thorns protecting beauty
Luminous eyes peer from the blackness
Swirling blue orbs of piercing intensity
Unblinking flames wreathed in dark shapes, watching.
Time slows, the single drop is released
Plummeting to the floor
Smashing smooth perfection into a thousand facets
Exploding the silence,
Flashing mirage of deathly features
Dissolving into acrid smoke
Rushing upward from containment
Blotting out the light with an inky gloom
Leaving one entity alone
In an incomprehensible vastness
Engulfing that which it contains
Mesmerizing the eye of the unknown beholder
A presence that goes unacknowledged,
Yet it struggles to exist.
Surrounded by the wreckage of matter torn apart
By the soulish desires of beasts
That were never brought to humility
Whispers heard from afar,
Clouded by the poisonous fumes that arise in a land of ghouls
Unfathomable creatures

Complacency

It has been revealed to me how truly complacent I am. So often I pray that I would be fully awakened from the spiritual sleepiness that drifts around like a fine mist, yet I have no energy to thrust away the drowsiness. My eyes seem glued shut with sleep, yet I am comfortable, just the way I am, lacking any further diligence other than that required to crawl slowly through the stages of earthly life. Though I may occasionally strive for higher understanding, to attempt to live a life of meaning, and to be a good example, I may never achieve that highest standard that has been set. Not alone. It is only by His grace and mercy that I may even breath, that I continue to exist. My struggles belong to no-one but myself, because I am a human being. All that I could ever be out of my own fleshly self is lower than the dust of the earth, self-centered and shallow, blown to and fro by every stirring breeze that happens upon the dusty road. Despite this state of utter deprecation and sluggishness taht I seem to be trapped in, I am comfortable. I am seemingly content with loosing, willing to quit running the race if I become even slight,y out of breath, constantly being distracted from the goal that lies ahead. I say I want to finish the race, to achieve the goal, and often I think to myself how wonderful it will be, yet my heart is not set on it. I live as one who has no true purpose in life, other than achieving those goals common to members of the society I live in. Go to school, get a degree, build a resume, start a career, find a wife, start a family, raise children, try to get past all the hardships in life without stumbling too badly, and eventually end up in the grave to become a pile of carbon molecules at the bottom of an oblong box. Perhaps my name will be found in the archives one day, and passed on as something utterly insignificant, but the person, the body, soul, and spirit will be absent, forgotten in the myriads of generations to come. Perhaps I have yet to believe that it is really true, despite the fact that it has happened countless times before. Yet again, perhaps I have built a wall of excuses, so that no change might squeeze its way through into my life. So then, I am complacent. I will say then that I hate my state of comfort, and sneer at it with utter derision. I have purposed to wrench myself free of its bondage, to take a stand for the One I believe in, whose purpose I have been called to fulfill. Yet here I stay, spreadeagled in the muck like swine in mud. I need His help, He must give me more faith, for within my own soul, no faithfulness can be found.

The Scantron Machine Film

The Scantron Machine Film

Vast Intensity

In the two hundred and thirty-one months that I have been on this earth, many things have changed, are currently in the process, and will continue to be formed with the progression of time. Among the innumerable quantities of entities, existences, the infinite possibilities and the events that end up happening, I am one. Even the identity that I perceive myself to be is composed of quantities, proportions, tangible and intangible objects that, when they are dissected, pulled apart by thought processes, are found to contain entire volumes of more things. The effect is indescribable and phenomenal, vast in every direction, limited only by the words used to describe it.