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By lifeislife Date: 2004 Apr 27 Comment on this Work [[2004.04.27.14.41.6713]] |
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I found your pulse inside my unchained connection to God. The heart whose tune only you've come close to. I pray you come closer, closer still, as if a wish to ignore the restraint each second's passing places upon us in time's stubborn limitation. Limitation sending the message of patience home. The potentially destructive, potentially infinite sink hole of boundless sadness and anticipation that my joyous expectation, the very hope in me, will be dashed against the hearth of my glass half-full house. Hope is an unglazed porcelain bowl, chipped, cracked, and finally smashed. I am embarrassed to see myself carefully, painstakingly try to put it back together again because I know You. Your ability to tell me how you feel. I wonder what the last holder of this soul did to deserve my childhood, sometimes. As this life's lesson has been all about being alone. Its been, "Kid? You're on your own." Watch people come close, watch people fall away. Watch their sad mouths twist when they say they like me so much that away they stay. No. That's a bunch of petty free, pity-me bullshit. That's where the resignation of Zen gets completely ignored. That's where individuality lay. Where I get to be me, and why, specifically, I am alone and remain. So. In finding Your pulse inside My unchained connection with God, I can't help but hope harder than I ever have. An action making every super-glued crack creak, and every formal dismal failure potential proof that love just wasn't meant for me. I don't believe that Darwin was wrong. The thriving survival and arrival of me is in moving toward pleasure. If it weren't? Feeling good wouldn't feel good. It'd just be alright. |