-in the name of Allah-


So I find a few minutes out of an unrelentingly pacifying schedule to meander back to posting what I said I'd post a few days ago. Allahu-Alim, I think it (the poetic) is one of my better compositions, but like all stuff of that nature, its inherent limitations are evident. No matter, life proceeds forward.



Take your path and find your way through the forests of choices, where everything seems to be composed of gold but only the truth sparkles in visions. Dreams such as yours can only come from a heart of plasma made in the stars and constellations, showing weary travelers the way back from bouts with cloudy indecision. I declare my words to be drops of rain in hurricane season, and though someone might see them, it’s more likely they’ll run for shelter with the aimless legions. I’ve ceased looking to innervate the nerves of hearts whose eyes read these lines, but find the truth too sugary and ill-defined. People can find their own way to the truth, my only goal and purpose is to help if need be, send them off on world voyages though they’re leaving me where I am. Not a few days ago, I realized that happiness can be found anywhere in anyone, not to be confused with something impossible to take with the virus of hatred on the loose and truth on the run. The heart has an innate quality that seeks out comforting thoughts and individuals, moving beyond the realm of the concrete and physical. So if dreamers dream let them dream as if they truly live where their heart and mind are content and all around is serene. Life is a lion surrounded by hounds from hell on all sides, but one by one the lion can take them all even if the rope seems too high. And what other way can those hounds dare to attack except one by one, for if two left their places simultaneously a space would open and behold, the lion is free eternally. Still, damn the hounds for each one of them is viciously trying to choke hold the world from any truth and hope for sanity’s grip and reward for what our deeds have earned when death welcomes us back from this trip. Ah, I’ve written more than I usually do as of late, it seems the day ends earlier as night becomes to truth a nocturnal gate of mine.





Hm, it may be just me, or does that resemble a wall of text? Ah well. Au revoir mes amis.