"In the arena of logic, I fight unarmed."
-Red Mage
Thursday, October 15, 2009
God I hate being so...sentimental and holding on to everything...I just stumbled across some mementos my grandmother left me after she died...God it hurts so freaking bad.
"Limping through the world
there’s a knowing look or two
is it just the cripples here
who understand the truth?
Why is love so painful
why do we always lose
paving pathways for the lost
the bitter, and recluse?
He said “Love endures all things”
and it hurts to think it’s true
did it nail Him on a cross
did it crucify Him too?"
-Five Iron Frenzy, "Spartan"
"Limping through the world
there’s a knowing look or two
is it just the cripples here
who understand the truth?
Why is love so painful
why do we always lose
paving pathways for the lost
the bitter, and recluse?
He said “Love endures all things”
and it hurts to think it’s true
did it nail Him on a cross
did it crucify Him too?"
-Five Iron Frenzy, "Spartan"
A Journey Through Your Mind and Soul
Being the king of this trash heap, I can get anything I see my eyes on.
I can win the dreams of impossibility but the one real, tangible, practical and necessarily unnecessary thing I cannot find.
I do not ask for much but much is given.
I simply speak and kings bow.
I stand and riches are handed.
But of the eternal?
Of the everlasting?
So often it is naught to be found in this.
What am I to become?
My hands are weak and my soul thirsts.
Where are you?
Where did you traverse?
On what plane must I travel to see you?
I can speak in alien tongues, sing the songs of elves and birds but still without You I lack.
Where is this fountain I seek?
Where is this intoxication of love?
Is it a myth or mere misconception of the fool?
I traverse this wasteland, I hunger and thirst while looking for You.
I have memorized thousands of lines that I recite by night as I wander by day.
The moon is my mistress, the stars my hand servants and the sun my adversary.
My body aches, not from the leagues I have traversed but from those yet to come.
Not the sacrifices I have made but that the absolute worst is yet to come.
I seek the face of one who has looked away, that no longer sees me as me but merely me as at caricature.
At some point things traversed to a point of no understanding and now we are both left with an ever increasing chasm between us.
I'm walking through this desert wasteland, not searching for water but chasing phantoms. I see the marks in the sand, the fire pits and the evidence that my quarry is in fact human or at least prefers to make me think of it as such.
Shades of the past, a spectrum of color and belittled hope.
What of this drought of hope?
Sincerity or lies to cleverly disguise what is fraught?
I can win the dreams of impossibility but the one real, tangible, practical and necessarily unnecessary thing I cannot find.
I do not ask for much but much is given.
I simply speak and kings bow.
I stand and riches are handed.
But of the eternal?
Of the everlasting?
So often it is naught to be found in this.
What am I to become?
My hands are weak and my soul thirsts.
Where are you?
Where did you traverse?
On what plane must I travel to see you?
I can speak in alien tongues, sing the songs of elves and birds but still without You I lack.
Where is this fountain I seek?
Where is this intoxication of love?
Is it a myth or mere misconception of the fool?
I traverse this wasteland, I hunger and thirst while looking for You.
I have memorized thousands of lines that I recite by night as I wander by day.
The moon is my mistress, the stars my hand servants and the sun my adversary.
My body aches, not from the leagues I have traversed but from those yet to come.
Not the sacrifices I have made but that the absolute worst is yet to come.
I seek the face of one who has looked away, that no longer sees me as me but merely me as at caricature.
At some point things traversed to a point of no understanding and now we are both left with an ever increasing chasm between us.
I'm walking through this desert wasteland, not searching for water but chasing phantoms. I see the marks in the sand, the fire pits and the evidence that my quarry is in fact human or at least prefers to make me think of it as such.
Shades of the past, a spectrum of color and belittled hope.
What of this drought of hope?
Sincerity or lies to cleverly disguise what is fraught?
Quote of the Day:
"The problem with Christian culture is we think of love as a commodity. We use it like money. I used love like money, but love doesn't work like money. It is not a commodity. When we barter with it, we all lose. When the church does not love its enemies, it fuels their rage. It makes them hate us more."
-Donald Miller
-Donald Miller
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