Nothing New

To lay one line against another to bend and curve them, this escapes me. To fill a space with color or to set a scene within a frame and lay lights and shades across it all, this escapes me. To bend the air and ripple it with sound or to even think it in my head, this escapes me. To remove some mass from here or there and place it back again, yes, all these things escape me. But don't suppose that when they are, that I don't understand. I can see in every scene and every sound the pieces that are me and some pieces that are you. Don't suppose that since I don't loiter there that I don't understand. I know all these lines and curves hard pressed in every page. Every color that has caressed the canvas every pixel on the screen all the notes and rhymes and forms born from the mind. That it's done for and from all that thing inside. Still, have no worries over my respects I only did not pay, for I know that my cheap currency is of little worth in all this place that’s you.

...That each mans life is an epic do not be fooled, do not be set of balance by the mundane, joy, or horrible ...the visible me in no way authorizes the thinker to deny the latent me... And just as there are scientific certainties in life there is in that same place, which consists of both the seen and unseen, a host of what can be found with Men. It is argued whether men are evil or whether they are good, but I say that it is that men are vessels. And that they are ~~~ fill themselves with. And There are hands that help in this filling. With names. Faith Hope and Love Hate Jealousy Fear Envy Desire Lust Anger Despair Pride Justice Mercy. It It It is Love that should govern them all, but here it does not. They war, and the ones who would not, our fallen state has forced their hand...