Martyrdom Denies Suicidal Truth (1)
Letting go and flowing backward, joining in the invisible surging current of fate: not knowing of predetermined ordanation, becoming just one of the race; no matter how the net was casted, the movements remaining a natural force of destined tendency.
The encompassing of a bottled space, however fierce the sunlight tries to expand, exploding atoms essentially culminated: Into dreams of the mind. Effortfully, the spirit in the trial of destroying even the concept of freedom; that which drives the soul into unreasonable wildness, like a child decides and wills the holding of his breath, thowing tantrums forever childishly--No matter the why and the how, the what nailed immobility upon the hands and the feet into that cross of overly burdened and encumbant denial of the truth about the necessity of trials and tribulations! Weaving in streams of red curves of blood like designs from the source of the stabs from the crown of thorns exclaiming refused martyrdom!
And in the fields, dandelions and clovers bloom; sending permeatingly sweet invitations to the butterflies and the bees, forcing on the basic instinct of the continuation of the species; whether on the pores of insects' feet, or the floating seeds carrying upon featherly denial to the gravitational force. Tenacious longing for the race, dreaming life into visibility of some wild thirst and cruelt hunger: forever chasing after some invisible fruits without the need of want: for salvation from wants or redemption for the encoded blind urges!
WILLIAM THOMPSON (1712-1766)
THE HAPPY LIFE
A book, a friend, a song, a glass,
A chaste, yet laughter-loving lass,
To mortals various joys impart,
Inform the sense, and warm the heart.
Thrice happy they, who careless laid
Beneath a kind-embowering shade,
With rosy wreaths their temples crown,
In rosy wine their sorrow drown.
Begone, ambition, riches, toys,
And splendid cares, and guilty joys--
Give me a book, a friend, a glass,
And a chaste, laughter-loving lass.
