love that is censored and decided and questioned has no merit in the heart of men. It is not the subject but of the two who share that mutual bond and respect for another. We judge so much in others and fail to see our own plight and our own planks when picking at the slivers of err that belong to those around us and in our community.
I challenged love and I lost. I begged love and I lost. I gave love and I lost. Now I am lost and love does not come back to find me and tell me it is sorry. It won't and it can't because it wasn't mine alone to own. It cannot be chained to the wall in a prison of dreams and held hostage and brought on stage to perform at the will of a fool.
Some of my most memorable ideas and thoughts have been inspired by such loss and I feel as though love is communicating with me and on my side if it even is not standing beside me. It eggs me forward and lets me know that this is who I am and to accept what and whom I am and learn that realm before I take a vacation into it. I am doing that to the unfair judgment of others and the unhappiness of most who haven't the time for what I have to say because it cuts a little too close to the bone for them. I spread a sort of viral inclination that seeps into the pores and festers into something grave and wicked. I am good at it and love knows this and keeps its distance in order to remain pristine and untainted by the pureness of my nature. I respect love's existence even if I cannot sit down and have lunch and discuss its manner.
Is anyone ever truly worthy of any thing stemming from the good things in life? Is there a single person who has never slapped a fly or gnat or crushed a bug however small and ate of meat and gnashed at living plants and can say they truly are white hot glowing examples of purifying goodliness? We all have sinned and sinned against and been sinned on. My moral compass is a little piece of antique jewelry I wear in my heart that was put together from all the pain and guilt I have for the things I have taken from this place that did not rightfully belong to me or anyone else. And I balk at you all and wonder why don't they have some befitting trinket that guides their minds to encompass and embrace harmony?
I don't know love any more than the next soul or the last but I know I feel every time mine is ripped from my heart by some poor unsuspecting perpetrator of doom. I hurt so bad when it is thrown to the ground and kicked over and over in the war between us and the bruised, dirt covered, battered organic myth is finally rendered completely useless in that moment. I yearn for comforting words and for comforting arms and for comforting reflection of what it is supposed to be. Instead, I get cold and dark and the existence I was born unto as a damned soul tormented by my legacy and by my blood. I get cold shoulders when it is freezing and I get hot temper when the air is thick and humid from the ovens of the sun. I get no relief of this love and for this I have become a box of ills.
Loki, Pan, Puck and all other curiosities in the shop of horror love to pick at my locks and fondle my brackets and buckles and rub so secretive across the leather that covers my crate. They goad me and guide me and drag me from love and make me dance by the night's fire and rejoice in the screams and howls and take sup on the fear of beasts. Damn them and their tempting folly, while love drives even farther from my eyes! Damn them for their charismatic convinceable conjecture! Damn them and love for the betrayal of man. I look as man and woman but damn they who made the mistake and left it for me alone to discover and live a life of solitude without the most prized gift to have, love. Giving yet more of what I have left away....~mobe's love to her all and her all to her loves.
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