My acts of honest disclosure are stabs of glass; I turn against my own ego.
Although, those brash attacks are blasts of mad. My emotions are abstract at that, so I feel disarmed against my own soul that would decompose. Until I make a rasher grab at this valid power you have.
My force is natural, and I was never bad at that. My own nature is something I presuppose – I am massive at.
I bow to none, simultaneously, while I bow to all.
Sometimes wondering how I am percieved.
Because no matter how it seems, I feel massive tall.
I am trapped within trap. I am black against black.
I am fine ingredients mixed, with sourest taste, in which is laced with sweet bliss, in which is as fleeting as a calm before a storm. My only ever fear is to go blind or deaf, because then in fear I would no longer be able to stare, while the trumpets, I could no longer just hear.
In the victories, of wise righteous, we pull out swords in our favor. I feel a win on the horizon, in which winning will be savored. In my human form I feel angst, and great pressure, but in me I feel a Godliest nature in which when it will arise again, my excellence must be as sharp as a razor or laser.
Tallest trees in which chopped, so until then I speed up my rhyme scheme until hot.
I feel chained within this lock, but the forces of nature are sure not. Speaking to this reflection is none scarier, than a moment when I am crushed by none other, but by the creator of things.
How utterly, dangerous and strange.
That my love is bigger than my fears or deep hate. I sleep late, tossing without my own prerogative, it must be the nature of this thing I am at war against: this artificial belligerence, that I am in control of, whilst, knowingly, subject to my higher power.
Jehovah, holy spirit.
Holy spirit, control my mind, while I am daring in this prison of impairment, and glaring reflection.
My eyes were designed to only see you.
I need you; speak to my only harmony of imperfection.
Change this world at once, through your time of excellence, and perfection.
I need your direction, I need your whispers daily.
I need your inspiration, I never and vow to get through life, and existence, barely.
Do you hear me?
 Remember: you shouldn’t be surprised that a fig tree
produces figs, nor the world what it produces. A good doctor
isn’t surprised when his patients have fevers, or a helmsman
when the wind blows against him.