The world swings along on a sideways axle,
Because it was side-kicked into the universe, by a being of great and mighty power, strong enough to shake the very Earth. We are all but ants, gathering to pick the dirt, and dirt we pick and gather, until made a kingdom. Until made a skyscraper. Until The Eiffel Towers, until The Twin Towers, until The Pentagon. And further until we as the humans left that be, call them all monuments. But we indeed, are all, such as the cosplayers, pretending to be anything other than our own weaknesses.
And what man, or female, would rather be called something smaller than what they chose to be. These are the pawns that swing into this world. Only to come out the other end of the womb, and join hand in hand with the cubicles that flood the worthless entities, scattered all around. A man creates a government, in hopes of maintaining what they spent so many eons, gathering and collecting the dirt from the dead ashes of their kinsmen to userp and create, that they fail to realize that we indeed are all, little more than cosplayers.
We seek the means to an end, that we fail to grasp.
We seek the peace from out of a hate that seems powerful to us.
We seek the future from out of a coffin that we tried to preserve in gold.
We seek to lay down, and have our way with the fates of the tides that be. But we are all little more, than scattered for the choosing. We are but clones. Clones are the same people, but in our imaginary minds, we seek the allure from out of the bleakness that is, and has been the same, for all these millenniums.
Black skin, Caucasian, Russian, humanoid. Or undiscovered? All of them, are named one person, and then scattered all around; we are mortal until the apparatuses of our own creations take us completely over, and then are replaced by the other boundaries of the aether and beyond. We shall be scattered again. Until we learn and realize that indeed,
We are little more than the cosplays of our own creations.
We are humans, made to have gray. Unto aliens and whatever imaginations, above, below, and all around us. They see us as waging war with the devils, and angels.
But we are at war with our minds first, before we are at war with one other. We will die, and choose, whether we are like it or not. Good. Or evil. There is no lukewarm.
And we will either be thrust from the aether the same way we came into it. Sideways with terror and fear and loathing until erased…Or upward into the arms of the same God, that created and destroyed, at the very same time.
Copyright July 29, 2017