LUTTE
DANS
Prelude To War
The
definition of fear, is what we all live in. Living in what is a constant, a
given, robin. Thievery. Cheated out of peace. He, in front of the where the mic
should be. Free him. patience, a demon in disguise, this way, this way, guided
to putting off like putting on isn’t what he should be doing, like putting out
isn’t what he should be doing! Putting introspective measures into place plays
vital these days, it seams… perfectly in line with the grain of laze streaking
throughout. A constant wrestle, brawl, full brawn in brainwaves, shake of head
when confronted. Soles stomping in soul, lone encounters reminiscent of dark
alleys, Valley ways. Brutal, way this dilemma brews.
Blueprint
The issue
lies in an area, a great and pivotal error, sowed in youthful green so soaked
in with the loam of growth, an unnatural nature. Artificial ghost, extant,
twisted along the threads of his actual spirit, common knowledge, practically
beknown. Where did all the time go? Yesteryear! Reveal yourself; do not show
him shadowy illusions or times bygone. Allow him the chance. Certainly
inopportune to use the aforementioned demon against a weakened and lesser him,
a him, finally caught on to always being caught off. Cause of death?
Non-fulfillment. Half-hearted, never feels full. Cursed by the believers.
Bereaved at the thought of such qualities, going astray. He must be blind.
Simply that, in a sense when only sent to a meditation, all senses except sight
on deck, on site. Then they all put their cents in. all a terrible vice, rests
above his eyes, visors. Inside the depth of grays and blacks, doom and gloom
and steel walls, the dimly lit den of all ideologies crude, reigns and pores.
An
impractical and ultimately thin thing keeps him, them, us, we, all, enclosed.
Think of it, fight the fear; of being oneself. He has sparred to the point of
exhaustion, katana exalted, saulted through summers and winters, hand springs
for evasion, falling down on faces. Wholly jaded, why such a stronghold? Why
not just express? Let be. Let live. Become. Conquer. These schemes of the
conscious should come as natural as the lines he types, as he writes, left in
the cages and chains. Fear, the poltergeist. The eternal tormenter. Accompanied
by the questions. Surrounded by the doubt. Fear, the instiller of timid
spirits. Fear, the limiter. Fear, the everlasting winner. As long as he, and
they, and them, conform to the tyranny. Break free. Uprisal. Retrieve, time
lost. Confidence. Quality. Talent. Whatever be it. simply be.
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