The heart wants what it wants… yet desires fall asunder,
unparalleled in might to the fates of the spirits.
Who am I to question I AM, but for the purpose of knowing
where next to place my stride and affix my gaze?
Lofty visions of a simple man take hold of sensibilities
and leave the soul waning in the blur,
beseeching for the comforts of hallowed seclusion.
Standing firm is equivalent to the flee and cloak of sacred refuge.
All is hidden in the depths of humility;
sacrificed beneath the tongue of silence;
betrayed within the tears of night.
Dreams fancy the conscious,
concealing its secrets and trapping its woes
until the darkest hour.
There is some form of mercy here.
Freely flying spirit,
weighed only by the melancholy of consequence,
slowly sheds the affliction for renewed life;
depositing still another lessoned sin
into its suppository of cultured virtues.
I am learning.
Fulfillment of the flesh is a broken man’s plunder;
vexing his tongue, veiling his sight,
cursing his soul to wander…
The heart wants what it wants; but the Spirit holds the scepter
to strike ill wants asunder.