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They call me Truth
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a new air envelops the old, develops, unfolds, persuasive in its touch, evasive oh so much, in us, we fuss, we damage, we pillage, we trust, delivers from rivers of lust and reminds that time is both real and lost, both steam and frost, both freedom and cost. its simple yet complex, both abstinence and sex, both joy and pain. for in all there was and all there will be it remains, it drains, and replenishes,it kills and brings life, it stops and starts, it begins and ends, it begins again.
but drifting through this world, piercing the air, making insignificant ripples and realizing everchanging truths is all part of the illusion, the lower part of the higher purpose, creating anew in each moment a fight to fight, and a struggle to overcome, as if one existed in the first place, crippling and rehabilitating, to cripple again: the process.
deep tears, deep cries, deep revelation, depth dies.
the enlightenment of pain
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