a nation politically corrupt, a set of laws that seemed a bit abrupt, a society supposedly found, on covenants that were seemingly sound, a group of people with the corresponding thinking, but before long that dam started leaking, a country with the pretense, that with such a heritage we could ride the fence, that because of our founding, that we ourselves were good enough, that not even God could call our bluff, that we were Americans, we were tough, we can do anything we please, that not one of us would get on our knees, because our Founding Father already did that, and if your dad is saved, aren’t you?
in the end, its not going to matter how many breaths you took, but how many moments took your breath away. -shing xiong.
its amazing, how everything on this earth lives, that everything combined gives a special spin to something otherwise lifeless, a world that just might make you guess, at the beginning of all these things, and all the beautiful lives that it brings, that a beautiful flower, could hold enough power, to sustain itself free from any hand, that the lush grass could feed off the land, and live wholly without threat, that bugs could live without the fear of the net of a lifeless world, and that even the birds of the air could afford, a life full of beauty and independence, within a world that cannot fence in the spectacular wonders of life.
its nearly impossible, this acceptance stuff, to see ones imperfections and to ignore their bluff, to show love without a false face, to call quits on this ‘acceptance’ race and to finally acknowledge true endearment, and forgot about constant ensnarement, to run the race that really matters, to attack this acceptance thing till it shatters, to over come this belief, and en-capture a certain type of relief, that comes by only knowing, that what your soul is truly showing, is loved and accepted by the people that matter.
"Everything is only for a day, both that which remembers and that which is remembered. Observe constantly that all things take place by change, and accustom thyself to consider that the nature of the universe loves nothing so much as to change things which are and to make new things like them. For everything that exists is in a manner the seed of that which will be."
- Marcus Aurelius (via catherinestumberg)
its indescribable, this fools game, the very actions and words that put us to shame, all thrown at us because of our difference, difference from the world and all they see, even in the simplest matters we try to be the people we were meant to be, and do so exceptionally, without care or concern, without fear of harm, but to no affect do these words have, because in all reality, we are put down for our frugality and asked to be normal, to follow social rules and to be formal, even if our lives wont claim it, we need to be the people we are politically ‘supposed’ to be. but friends, at last be free! be weird, interesting and creative, be loving and accepting, for this is the idea really worth fighting for.
if ever i had an enemy it would be routine, the thing that makes my life seem so faulty, when im not on time for this, or i go far away and risk, not doing the same thing everyday, for many people strive for normalcy, they welcome the thought of a grave formality that keeps out creativity and brings in a dull vitality, that as humans you should be happy with the lull of categorized discrepancy, that all you do today, will bring happiness tomorrow in such a way, that drives you forward without apathy, that a continuous routine of things will bring an realized joy, and that even something so coy would bring happiness in the end. but this ‘truth’ i bend, to say that what you love is what you should do, that your unsaid realizations of routine may be true, and that without a continual regularity, you might just find a life without solidarity, and thrive as one of few happy individuals.
its interesting, this relational thing, whether its friendly or with a ring, that two as one can be so daunting, that a long lasting friendship stops without cause, that such a poem will end mid clause, that without word or deed a trust will fail, a strong being instantly becomes so frail. but here i stand justified, not completely sure; maybe a little mystified, about how a thing so great, so beautiful, could end so silently.
love. a continual mercy streamed to us, something more unreal than real, something beyond what we feel, but something unsaid, a feeling that is beyond whats read, a desire, maybe even a capability, that probably is argument-ably, the thing we thrive on, a type of reassurance that is beyond logic, a brother and a friend, that make wordless amends, something rarely seen, something that always could’ve been, if it weren’t for the selfish things, that more likely than not bring a pain insufficient for words. But this i rely on, that in the morning, but at dawn, that this love will live on.
