Upon you there is greed, lust and death. Will you step aside and let the guards deal? Or will you bow down to such magistrates of life? You run the streets of filth, you feed off of other's souls. What will you do now? Scavenge what you can you scavengers, for it won't be long until the darkness swallows you whole. You think it's hard to breath now - just you wait. The day will come when the walls fall down by beggars hands and see what they cause afterwards. You will be begging for the water to stop flooding your lungs - yet there will be no water in them. You will be begging for the fire to stop engulfing your lungs - yet there will be no fire in them.
Your eyes will be blinded by the blackness of your irises that bleed. No color will be left in them. Your skin will change to a light grey, it will begin to gradually peel away until nothing is showing but veins and raw meat. Eventually the veins will dry up and shrink and the raw meat and muscle will dry as well. No one will help you, least you should shout out in pain or yell out for help. Even I whom has constantly been there to support you through you troubles; will not help. Yes you heard me correctly, nor I would be there to save your binding spirit. You scavenger, you greed, you lust and death -all into one. You will not hurt me anymore. You who does not control me anymore, begone. Go back to your own little world I will have nothing else to do with you.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
There have been many times I have thought that I had found TRUE love. I'm happy and grateful for finally able to say that was all false hope and today at the (still) tender age of twenty-four I can honestly shout off the roof tops that I indeed have found TRUE love. I'm grateful for the fact that it has been shown to me now then when I become fifty or even eighty. I'm now able to live the rest o my years happier then most because it takes a lot of people a whole life time of searching to find TRUE love and still there are some who are not as fortunate. The possibilities of TRUE love being different for everyone is great only because everyone perceives love differently. To me my TRUE love is a splendid blessing and I only have God to thank for it.
My TRUE love is a big bushel of 1 big group called - 'My Family'. First came my husband whom when I first met I never wanted to leave his side. I could stare at him all day sometimes. Boy did I ever try to. It doesn't matter if my husband and I have fights/arguments. It doesn't matter if there comes a time we decide being together is not meant to be. He is the love of my life. I have never wanted anyone as badly as I wanted him. I'm deeply in love with this man and I always will be. My children make up the rest of the bushel. My heart grows founder of them more and more each day. Just when I think I can't love them anymore than I am, I find room in my heart, more room I didn't even know was there. God's Love is TRUE love. He made humans, so giving birth to beautiful children that I carried for months at a time is God's love. I couldn't possibly ever imagine how he feels about each one of us. - Michelle Shiflett
Gratitude is only in the eye of the beholder. Whom have we not wondered about? Graciously we walk in the night, our footsteps light as feathers. Yet we run so happily where everyone can hear us. How come? Why do we walk so far and get nowhere? Is our hearts burdened with a lover's spat? Why do we hold on for so long when it hurts and tears us up inside? I did love him . . . I don't anymore. We only see what we wish to see. Unlikely like us right? No! More so like us. We are unfit for the angels that cross our paths. However, we are fit for each other for we all sin and we all do practically the same things. Why not put satan with satan? We are each guilty just as the next.
A flower is only yet a sin of a truth, only another kind. It's looks and appearances are deceiving. It may attack you at any moment that it wishes too. It sets forth a poisonous scent that makes nose hairs curl up, eyes made, are to water and cry. It brings death upon which no other can replace it or heal the wound that the flower has now caused upon the sorrowful soul. The lover just lies there in the dark and on the floor, their breath gets shallow as hours pass. If only they had not have accepted the sweet gift of as which that had given to them. May they feel free spirited to jump and slap around as a happy fool in love. Death becomes a toll and smells sweet to some that feed off of rats in the night. Let not dawn destroy them but by a flower which smells so sweet can taste so cold and rotten. Let it be naked and secret to the lover's eye. - Michelle Shiflett