It happened a long time ago. In this eternal wasteland of forever, there begins to be no time left. The end before the start of the beginning of time, and the beginning is before is the end? Perhaps the purpose was filled with too many sorrows, and too many forgotten tomorrows.
Latent purpose has no meaning. There is only tomorrow. Forgotten is any dream and remembrance of life, to the viewer of the obscene survey of will power, clashed within themselves the purpose of nothing. Crazy ness cannot describe the torture within the pried and fragmented wasteland. Future gone long a time a go beyond the hill of never. Time.
Then there was the future. A place of no consequence, yet the unknowns too fascinating and pure to forget.
In the time of yesterday, there was a lonely bird. Forgotten. Then became the trials of torture that probed the innocent and crying silence.
They were supposed to go to the dump, Saturday. Lined up to produce nothing, the gnomes of forever keep tomorrow waiting.
There again within time's pieces it falls between the edges. The seams are burst again within the halls of endless time. Portions of memories tickling my endless pragmatic fickling. Fidgeting I wonder who and why.
Here I am in this place of preciousness, beyond the fridges of time's wearing coarseness. Here it all loads itself up and hangs out, as though in the spring breezes beyond the flow of forever, within this now time. I should never, and would never find a good reason why. There is only goodness, and to live and love, is to be good. To hate and waste time determining who is getting the best experience.. that is a waste of life. Spiritual food is needed in addition to real food.
In the winter the dry leaves get frozen into the ground, just like the things that happened before the cold winds clung to the Earth's heart. Gracious liveries and torture cover blankets don't keep out the red of my own dreams, coming to fruition.
There is always something lingering behind in the sorrow tinged crayon colors. There is my traced line reverie once again, the reverie the only priceless fortune that keeps me attentive, and yet viewing the world from behind a mask of illusions.
Climbing endlessly tortured through the time crisis of tomorrow's yesterday hopes and dreams that tragically portray my sorrow and joy within a mold of nothing that cannot continue yet is always forever, and yet I digress from the central issue with father time, my bedfellow and enemy, friend, lover, father and mother, coarseness aside, beside beauty, ultimate joy is washing from the rooftops, the rain amongst the tree between the leaves of my heart lies consciousness conscience, purpose driven lies that do not speak a non-truth, the truth between the mire of not being able to handle the snake's bite, yet there is no sorrow. Sorrow is just an illusion, another portion to be blasted in the fire.
There is no crisis to be foretold. Time will go on, just as time will never end, time has no beginning.
And again, the climbing has a trend. It will become what it must be, before it can become what it wants to be. Timelessly it folds into itself the knowledge of years behind it, and makes itself become a root, to a large and un-chop-able tree. Once again, man must foretell himself dying in agony and sorrow, while he lives in comfort and happiness. Tradition and culture is becoming something more than just a good idea. It is becoming something we have forgotten. Where is the real truth in our lives? Is it in the knowledge? Yes it is. It is in the information. It is in the knowledge, the understanding of everything that is complicated. It is in the KNOWING of things that which we have not previously understood! IT IS IN THE ABSOLUTE ANSWER TO ALL QUESTIONS! IT IS IN KNOWLEDGE! In knowledge will the timeless mis-fortunate ones find their redemption, their grace, their future, and their purpose.
Well well well, we got kids takin care of kids, "lawlessness" in the streets on a level no-one can comprehend. Living stress is high, and continuity and reliability is low. Who's to say what the real meaning of life is? In Ecclesiastes, Jah tells us that the meaning is to do the work, yet I do not want to "wait in vain for your love", jah. Everyone is just graspin at straws here. Even the ones who think they know the best, are fogged in their minds. Lose traps are gripping the feet of those who just can't understand some kinds of lies and fornicated perversions that have tortured the lives of innocent people. Here they come again to skullf*** us with their insane demon logic, cracked open inside of your brains with glittering hatred of yourself. Fragged, fractal tortured climax. Dissipate before me forever. Never return.