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Oh, what I have seen, What I have beheld Of a world unknown to so many, Yet, threatening to all. It reeks of feigned happiness. Lust, its inhabitants ruler, their pleasure, their guide, Grins more and more openly, as lower they slide Into its chamber of horrors, wherein all identity is lost, In exchange for a minute feeling. How very great in strength can the flesh become! How very base and low when its conquest is done. Yet, rising to the next occasion with a valiant leap, Its greedy master prods, relentlessly Driving and pushing, to the utter limit, The foolish ways befitting its nature. Extremely important are visual effects in this dark playground. Wholly captivating is a mere contour paraded for all to see, Pulsating to sounds, heaving breathlessly to the beat of lights, They who’ve become shadowy creatures thriving on the night! Feeding off one another, they eat, yet they are not filled. They seek one another, as lovers ablaze with treasures, But alas! Naught but hot, abysmal coals are exchanged, Burning away that which is real. Semblance glows brightly, as their chosen victors crown, For Righteousness they have trampled into the ground Without so much as a glance from their eyes, now bedazzled and dull. Downward they slide, as on their bellies, keeping low, as to try hiding ‘Neath rocks. In masquerade, yea, they do parade. Avowing to all who will hear, claiming that their way is not queer, Encouraged by all who would cheer. Happiness? Yea, it is theirs, they do say,
While out in the open where their games are played. But, have you seen their lonely dwellings? Have you seen the furnishings that they stake their faith on? Their times alone (which most try never to have) Are spent trying to patch broken down dreams, Even at the cost of scheming. No, they are not screaming. They are living! Existing on the hope that hopefully they are right. Dancing to the tune that says a glorious plight Awaits them behind the curtain of their sanity. For they say, “Be true to yourself, be what you are. You’ll not hurt anyone by giving in To the (greedy) voice deep within That shouts, and begs, and pleads: Be what you are, you have no choice.” So with resigned acceptance do they bow low Until all will to reason bows lower still, out of sight, Leaving one prey to the itching, Never to be satisfied form of pleasure They call life.(Or is it the never to be satisfied form of life Called pleasure?) Now fully out of the confines of sensible reason, they crowd, Pushing on to fulfillment, ever so proud. Linked to one another by a common purpose, Marching on at will, for they are sure, say they, Of the choices made, of the price paid. Yea, marching in ever increasing numbers, They wax stronger in this utter weakness that has them spellbound. Consumed with a vision so real is the blind mastermind Who sees the end of their ways, they melt like ice at his gaze, From cold to hot, he has set them ablaze. Their feelings become his object of art, So excellent are the variations he does impart, Till nothing is objectionable, so long as it pleases,
With a pleasure of any sensual kind. How very hard does the hammer of words fall at this time. Even closed ears cannot miss hearing the echo, As it touches depths long forgotten, nearly lost, Yet not dead to the metal hard contact of reality. Won’t the lovers of this good lifestyle rise and take a bow, And show me how, while wiping the sweat from their brows, That they can ignore this sound? I dare say, “They cannot, nor will they ever be allowed, To fully silence the clammering deep within to be free! For these words have the power, because of fact, To conquer, as a prize fighter conquers one who is weaker, When blow after blow falls upon the face, Taking in their retreat a little more of the opponents strength. Such are the echoes of the words.” Still they struggle against the magnet of Truth That would hold them ever so secure. Instead they fearlessly run through the stench of wantonness, Allowing themselves to be lured. The bait has been set and falling head over heels, they, the hunted, (Who when asked…claim freedom!) In feigned safety, go on feeding upon their lusts, Not even knowing that they are already caught! Argue the point if you will, but it will be to no avail, ‘Cause you know as well as I, That a life sentence is hell in any jail! Read on my friend, there is more to be said. A while from being finished is my disclosure. Let us take a further look inside, Though the words may not for long abide, Foolish is the one who thinks he can hide! See them line the playground walls with baskets neatly stuffed. Giving themselves to whoever will consider their property tuff.
Showing off ‘cause it’s their aim to be seen. Seeing as through a looking glass it would be, if we willed To want to see our real selves, minus all the phony frills That leave us covered like a harlot, decked out in jewels so sparkling. Trying to portray beauty by covering over the ugly marks, Swaying to the barks of indifference. Voicing no concern, Unable to discern! Yea, hot sparks do fly! Senseless voices do cry! I AM WHAT I AM! Upward the chorus of the night-flyers climbs Like a rocket of energy sensuously aimed at targets (willing or not.) Numb to the pain their touch causes as it saps the object Of their fleeting dreams. They hearken only to the scream, DO YOUR OWN THING! My, how very easy it is to fall in love With the fantasy we deftly paint of the person, And occasionally the shared acts very much resemble the fantasy, Prolonging the mirage for a season, or even two. But alas! Always comes the brutal dialogue covering the mind like fog, Causing the actors to be like frogs jumping from lily pad to lily pad In search of another resting place. Excuse me, I mean another pretty face! Isn’t that the only way to get over the hurt? Well, isn’t it? I wonder, “Where has the ageless dream of a life partner gone? In this scene it has become perverted! Something’s all wrong! Submissively, the aching cry from deep within takes its flight, And aimlessly masters the mastermind’s song! And in another’s voice, quite superlative, the notes are sung, As the used one climbs the ladder rung upon rung. He tries desperately to hide in fleeting clouds In an attempt to silence the voice of reason, once so very loud, By injecting tranquilizing, hypnotizing, paralyzing words! And like a junky with his junk, it soothes for varied durations.
But this vocabulary becomes more and more lean, As it thins out into meaninglessness. Therein, forgetting the courage it once gave, Thoughts are now directed to the quiet grave, Where imagined peace resides. “But fool!” Say other voices, they giving some strength, “Shake loose those discouraging thoughts, and sing! Be who you are! Do your own thing! The grave can wait till another time. You are fine! Pretty and fine!” So deeper they go into the drama of which they are part, Seizing upon heart after heart, after heart, after heart! Consuming the attractiveness of partners As a cancer would eat flesh and bone, All the while becoming less and less anxious for a cure. If we could unroll, like a shade, all of life’s roles played, Compliments would be paid to no one For the absolute nakedness that would be seen. There would be no more foolish masquerading, Gone would be the proud parading. Still, nothing would be cleansed simply because of that exposal! Oh, desperation! Where does this leave the masqueraders And the paraders? Will eternity satisfy their wretched longing to be one with another? Nay! It will have just begun, And no sweet will in any wise mix with the bitter! For to be one with another (distorted and twisted by them, Yet, in Truth so precious and right), Will tangibly be out of reach to all who fell prey To the diabolical play and its miserable trappings. Impossible will be the slightest glance Through the door of fulfillment of any kind! Behold! The commencement of the ball is near at hand!
The master of ceremonies, to be seen as the master of disguises! A massive cry of remorse, to be heard throughout this land That once looked so delicious, and so full of surprises. Dictatorship so severely beyond what mortal mind can comprehend Will be their lot and their portion for ages without end! Yet, even in this late, dark moment before the curtain rises, There is a way to be free from the master of disguises, Because Righteousness, the only true Master, Stands with absolute power over hell, death and the grave, Beckoning in utter tenderness and mercy, All who will to hear, and will to see, and will to be saved! One last passage of thought I would now seek to convey. One last thing of importance I must array, and it is this: Oh, how resolutely alike is this world of which I have written, In any part of the vast world we all live in. The playgrounds may have different names, But each one is hauntingly the same! Only one exception exists, And that is the individuality of each player, Yet, even in this something is amiss. The drives are all the same! Alike are all the games! The uniqueness exists only until the goal is exposed, And the goal IS the same in all, though it appears not to be. If asked what was their goal, love they would say. They argue that love is the goal whether sad or gay, But have you been introduced to their so-called love And its deceitfulness? Come with me for a moment to its marvelous abode. So very powerful is its magnificent hold, Yea, it is so very, very bold in its pretense. Ask of it, and you will see it dazzle like a diamond! You will hear boasting of dreams, glorious beyond description, Detailed with “honorable” acts, Extravagant in its seeming ability to sink deep, as into the earth, Lavish in its beaming claims to soar heavenward! But alas! Alas! I have seen the leaven that permeates its dwelling.
I have seen it dormant, and I have seen it swelling. Both states reside together, with much in between. Can you not identify with what I have seen? Love’s palatial palace, Goodness, and also malice, Both sharing and having free access to the same grounds! Oh, natural love-------Is there no sweeter sound? Naught but one, dear friend! Naught but one! LISTEN… Can you not here the Life-giving tune of the forgiving Son?
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