Ism’s and Ist’s

The ism and their ist’s imagining life is lived through manicured paths of thought. Not a step taken out of turn as passerby’s quickly move from place to time. Fluid thought reacts to forks and bends with the decisiveness of experience.

Capturing the echo of thought is like grasping smoke. Empty handed we read the signals of what was thought and only written. Folks dreaming of magic words and incantations of harmony dissipate in the silence that screams common sense.

Love is as violent as hate is silent. People get in the way of love for these brains in a jar, always somewhat short of the imagined, but here lies the beauty, a brain without eyes or flesh can’t know it’s an ugly process.

Hate hides behind anger like a barking dog chained and muzzled. Without teeth the power of fear becomes a memory or dread. These hands of wisdom never get bitten by truth they walk, they muse safely at the other end of the leash.

In a plastic world the idea of emotion molds imitations of life. Art can reflect life, but like a mirror, can only mimic reality. To truly live we must shed our reflection and wrap it up tightly in our image for disposal.

And are we not thinkers? One mind vibrating across the universe so obvious to the stars. This concentric egocentric warped existence that leaves most dizzy. The power to stop the world from spinning out of control is simply closing your eyes. Like the pre operational child who covers her eyes, no one can see you and the world is yours to create, if only for a phase.

So it’s in my space, within my circle that my world revolves. I’ll love and hate equally, adore and detest with out regard, and never will I compromise my beliefs for another man’s promise of enlightenment. I am human without a suffix to corral my freedom at distances so far I think I’m roaming the range. Words and letters are silent tools at times for those gathering.

I refuse to be cultivated, corralled, or muzzled. My thoughts are the last bastion of defense. Vigilance within doesn’t rely on physical prowess, but silently creates and destroys the barrage of intent. So here I stand, on thoughts that are free, with my feet firmly planted in the soil of dissonance open to the melodies of life.

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