Frantic Glory

As if the screams of those lost in war and tides was not enough that a new race of mindless achilles clones of the modern era cropped up in society. So mad, so crazy, so devoted, so lost in the pure lust for a carving in the tablets of history.  A walk into the way of a path beyond reason.

This search, this deep need and hunger to last long in memory…. is one that can never be satisfied.

We will still steadily climb on towards the peak of our fate, of our imagined glory, our imagined haven … to our immortality. But alas…. we will fall. It is in the destiny of all warriors, of all rulers … of all men, that there must be a rise and fall. Fall is inevitable. Glory is for those , who rise from this fall. Or for those who rise so high that the fall itself is majestic.

It is in the devious greed of this that we lose our way, our mind. We panic.. or we become so drunk in our own ambition that everything else seems insignificant. Man’s biggest weakness has always been and always will be Power. It will always consume man. Corrupt his mind. Corrupt his vision of the Glorius, the immortal. Afterall .. that is what glory translates to … an inscription in the tablets of time. And very few are engraved there with a story that is truly worth being proud of for the right reasons , rather then a story to be vary of with vices.

In the end, a frantic shell of a man comes out. One who seeks his glory , anyway possible. The devine , the ever-lasting , the immortal… all come through irrational chain of thought. Thus the glory being a frantic one.

The Savior

I lay there , waiting for the last breath in my body to take leave. Waiting for the axe to grind right through my neck. Waiting for it to end. Waiting for my judgement to come , for it has long been overdue. Very long.

I wait for my judgement knowing that it is not my friend. But it might be my savior, from myself. A life lived without judgement. A life lived without repent. A life of ignorance.

I never carried on my shoulders the heaviness of my actions , or inactions. I never once cared for the outcomes of my decisions. The slightest thought of fear of wrong doing present in my spirit , or soul , was done away with by my vices.

All was so relative, yet so distant. Every bit of my eyes , held a passion , a passion for evil. For being bad. Yet there was no remorse. And i carried on , like a trooper on a mission to protect his home . Only I carried on with my misdeeds. I carried on as a agent of satin himself.

Sin after another. The Epitome of a cold heart.

And now, as i lay here , waiting for my last breath to come, i see it all flashing before my eyes. Every sin in front of me, everyone i have wronged in front of me. Screaming. Scorching me with their eyes. For the first time in a long time, i feel my soul. Only i feel it when it is screaming, crying, tortured by its own designs. Today, i have in my own eyes forsakened myself. Today, I cry. Today i need to save myself, from my own monster. I need a saviour. And death has only ever been so dead right in its timing to serve as one. Maybe i will be free of myself. Now.