Poder

Steal back the time that this effort has taken as toll for success.

Do not forget what these pieces of torn flesh mean.

This is the sum of our lives,

 the struggle to stay above the waves, 

for as long as these muscles burn

We are alive.

The awkward instant when you realize that the illusion can be bypassed and you can't decide the next step toward destruction.
Fingers extended to the infected as they breed,
mocking our preventions as monuments to their might.
They will conquer  this world.

 

 

glasses fill the zaghareet , zaghareet fills the dead.

Slipping shadows vanquished from the mind that still stirs violently from the ululations of beasts.
Canvases bleeding their corners with this chaotic swell,the mind, artful sacrifice yields these mutant wantings.
Grasping the ideas of those who've died, collective passion to progress past failures that follow just behind the possibility of triumph.
These moments will go, to be forgotten and replaced.
A lifetime of Movement, captured in the sieving tongues of celebration.
Why does the day we die have to be so sad?
In the shewed contexts of our childish beliefs how could we mourn the victors of this simple plan,
Go to heaven when you die, right?
How could it be worse than what evils propagate here in the realm of flesh?
All these zealots must drop this ugly righteousness and see that the reality of their claims are nonsense.
how could our gods be more than what we allow them to become through our artful stories?
Finding the afterlife isnt a matter of moral correctness and sacrifice,
only a matter of rewriting the story.