Post by contention on May 3, 2006 15:37:10 GMT -5
While, as it seems to be debated with dark powers; the essence behind them is something scoped to levels that can quite lay unseen at certain variables of time. The hold of such a take is that which no man could ever trully understand, or fully comprehend if the word "Evil" had some base in the realm that we do thrive in. Yet, the way they are taken is to be the negative influence upon the world. However, one can beat the same force with that of their own strides; taking an eye for an eye without ever switching the face on their shoulders. There might be light, but it can only shine so bright, while darkness has no defined defintion. It is everything that the mind can not comprehend; the bellows that we harm our arms over our faces for. The unseen, undeniable rotations around us. We feel the more you run, the more you can never tell; but the damage left from such a force is inevitable and a part of the natural run. A course that must be taken without turns or leaps; thriving off the edge of a silver platter is all it can allow. Being with the righteous can give short freedom, that of the Darkness does play in a field, where corners are foreign subjects.
In any situation, gaining the value of some dark item is a neccesary part of any function. Falling into this hole opens up a whole new perception upon reality. The shadows are where the creatures dwell, the edges unto which the real truths do lie. Those cloaks, drenched by the flame that burns to ash. The invisible heat to rise, leaving behind the blackest soot; it is that which we flip our feet for. But, oh what it can provide, without the aspect of a line to not cross. You can edge and beat on subjects unsought before. Relying in a darker being is that of a cynical mind. Lead into a dream drop, where the fullest scene is played out without a script. Merely run by the true delusions of our mind, what we call disillusion. It is no longer bowed by our unrealistic fantasies, but torn page by page until the cover and the seem are all that can be felt.
Be it that of a game or some diffrent area; we are in fact bred from all of those elements. Each of which any could replace as some human characteristic that we do form. As ourselves, we turn the tables of both Good and Evil. It is no title to give to a subject, for the message behind it is more dastardly than thought before. Being Good, we are washed on the soles of our feet until they run dry with the sweet scent of lavender. Only to be turned, right on the stone cracks; pebble to pebble stuck in the interior of that flesh. Causing it to roughen, to loose the touch it had before. Never to step on the ground and know the same expression. Ourselves, we, all: each born in the cups of two tides, each with the capability to use it to our own guidance. To kill or save, the savior can never decide; for he is but an image of our good; our evil is our own delieverance.
Wrap we do, when no scent near or far could rid of the scent of this eroding flesh. Only, only, only by the shaded descent can we produce our thickest of goals. It is there we must run, with our hands on our hips; never moving the finger but the bone to extend the lips. Speak, speak the tones of the unnatural motions. Humanity works in the bone of Evil.
In any situation, gaining the value of some dark item is a neccesary part of any function. Falling into this hole opens up a whole new perception upon reality. The shadows are where the creatures dwell, the edges unto which the real truths do lie. Those cloaks, drenched by the flame that burns to ash. The invisible heat to rise, leaving behind the blackest soot; it is that which we flip our feet for. But, oh what it can provide, without the aspect of a line to not cross. You can edge and beat on subjects unsought before. Relying in a darker being is that of a cynical mind. Lead into a dream drop, where the fullest scene is played out without a script. Merely run by the true delusions of our mind, what we call disillusion. It is no longer bowed by our unrealistic fantasies, but torn page by page until the cover and the seem are all that can be felt.
Be it that of a game or some diffrent area; we are in fact bred from all of those elements. Each of which any could replace as some human characteristic that we do form. As ourselves, we turn the tables of both Good and Evil. It is no title to give to a subject, for the message behind it is more dastardly than thought before. Being Good, we are washed on the soles of our feet until they run dry with the sweet scent of lavender. Only to be turned, right on the stone cracks; pebble to pebble stuck in the interior of that flesh. Causing it to roughen, to loose the touch it had before. Never to step on the ground and know the same expression. Ourselves, we, all: each born in the cups of two tides, each with the capability to use it to our own guidance. To kill or save, the savior can never decide; for he is but an image of our good; our evil is our own delieverance.
Wrap we do, when no scent near or far could rid of the scent of this eroding flesh. Only, only, only by the shaded descent can we produce our thickest of goals. It is there we must run, with our hands on our hips; never moving the finger but the bone to extend the lips. Speak, speak the tones of the unnatural motions. Humanity works in the bone of Evil.
