mystery in reality

 Speaking into the darkness conceives a silent feedback before a series of emotions. It is easier for the voice to travel with no intention to return which  on the long run is picked by the receiver that decodes it. Into the darkness is a deep portal operating under the mask of one mediator with jars, which supposedly capture the events of a strenuous day. Slowly it empties the jars into a dark clay basin before conducting the activities rising at such an ungodly hour. So do people, their insecurities, weaknesses and defenses begin to rise up, giving the Shadows the greater odds. Heavy! The eyes begin. It's time to surrender to what it dreads— Dark clouds with spectral fingers tormenting an innocent soul. But this is where it begins, more like where it ends. Even the shadows have a breaking point tied to their strings of mythology. There is no transparency to what is concealed by hopelessness. Clearly the one who governs the night dictates whatever the mind envisions to its fu...

 In many ways I tried to hinder The very pain felt inner, In dier need of a break through Another definite feel, but it wasn't you. What is true? A burst for Joy Or a tear dropped in sorrow Or is it love that destroy Maybe the one we borrow Listen to yourself, correct the movement of the hand that guides the workings of the innermost touch of thee. In every workings of humanity, the abnormality hidden within define us brutally. Our beauty laid in our inperfection dissected and kept in a place... Mine is my soft spot for sorrow... M¿ster¿°°°

 If words could save the world, we would be heroes in our own story, our fantasies coming to life with a single breath of a word. But in reverse the world would be in chaos. The words with great power comes great responsibility is a matter of choice, preceding to mean different in the hands of those with a rather dark foreboding foresight. Who ever said it was easy, the line actions speaks better than words creeps even deeper. To the extent they work hand in hand. Cause most actions are meaningless if not guided by soothing and caressing touch of words…. M¿ster¿°°°  

  A pacifist once held a gun out of anger, prepared to debunk his peaceful way of living. That kept the world on its toes grasping for air at the edge of a cliff hanger. Everything has a reason, even in chemistry, chemicals are mixed for the purpose of getting a reaction. That is why there will always be reactions to an action. An unaddressed problem manifests itself in the embrace of the darkness emanating from the ignorance of man. What happens if mans nature is kept unchecked, ideas and thoughts brought to life but never completed. Only to be abandoned and left to the world to complete itself. Chaos forming itself in peace and harmony, till it gets pregnant, ready to give way to a new born destruction. What we see is only what we choose to see, true? Maybe a critical decision can end the cause of rhetorical indecision. Maybe an alteration course set to a point of rehabilitation will be the guide of adherent purity. If’s in critical situations are as useless as doing nothing, ...

 Intoxicated by the twist and turns, a tight grasp of the strings of the heart, the tuning process of the melody inspired by melancholy. The bitter sweet feeling, the sad but peaceful perception, an understanding assessed and clinged to by the heart as the tunes grip and reopen fresh wounds. If words could explain, if words could simply create a sentence, identifying cryptly, indicating pricisely the cunning and deceptive nature of music to a bleeding heart. A direct relationship where the heart surrenders it all, the brain, the ears, the mind. A strike embarked by the heart to clench its desires firmly from the caressing sad symphony of the strings of melancholy. M¿ster¿°°° 

 Do you ever wonder the meaning of a tear, or do you ever feel there could be more to it. The simplicity it took from a mere thought to a subconscious study, "The Tear" What is the reason for tears? what does it mean? what does it truly signify? Questions that are merely rhetorical. The thought came by as he watched silently from a distance observing 3 parties having break downs in various instances, due to an act of emotional manipulation that brought about tears. All in their own state of moods, happiness, sadness, and anger. All moved each party to tears. It was almost as if it was planned but that was not his bother. What bothered him was the outcome of each outbreak. All the same tears. Blank, just a limit of salty water flowing from their eyes. He shifted his eyes to another view deep in thought wondering supposedly for fun, analyzing the what ifs of the world. Till his mind came across something associated with emotion. Which is colour. For as long as he knew, the repr...

 To him the rain drops where noticed when his days where a total symphony of melancholy. The grey skies matching his grey day, and the rain drops the cherry on his blue features. A pale day was a conjuring to his past sorrows but he wondered why it came on such a brooding kind of weather. He believed most times his sorrows where one of the instruments that made contributions to the intricate steps of rain making.  But that was just him being absurd. But still he felt as if his mood got drained as each rain drop slapped the pavement as the carriage took him to east side of Talasan.  To him the rain drops where noticed when his days where a total symphony of melancholy. The grey skies matching his grey day, and the rain drops the cherry on his blue features. A pale day was a conjuring to his past sorrows but he wondered why it came on such a brooding kind of weather. He believed most times his sorrows where one of the instruments that made contributions to the intricate...

 Clarity was the question. But mystic was the simpler term. If i choose to walk in a straight line, the line of movement will be determined by the angle of my view. In the decency of proper morals it was condescending to ignore those older even by just mere few months. So why was i terrified then mystified. It was eccentric, another incognitive journey to pass the time. Another mystery that left me mystified before figuring out the source of the intrigue. Like a plant that bears fruit, but was never planted. Ideas flowed but the stream was dry. Confusion! Left was up, right was run. Sing was sleep and to fight was to eat. Errors in a manner of diagnosed madness that spoke more of a disorder in need of help. I reached out, stretched out. In the climax, the rise of the madness. But i was in place, positioned to solve the problem. Or so i believed.  I Would have hit snooze, but swiped left to wake to the the comfort of sense in reality. Away from the Night mare.  M¿ster¿°°°