On, Beginning

On, Beginnings

 

Let me begin by justifying my stance on the matter. Myself is all, and all is becoming myself. But, to two categories are the next organized; duality of the church, and my humble abode. Dumping of just simple notions with the good, and the bad; two tides, two factions, a war of two sides. All being contained within the self, a walking army the poet is. Yet to decide what to attack thus becomes a battle itself. What fully dictates thus an argument then? Could it be this quill dipped into the ink well that was made from the hollowed out organ of beats? A beautiful boasting of pride, this, I’m thinking, not such the idea I want to accomplish. But rather…a grand memory of this (formed of course before written) will be the plan to a field for a better war. A plain containing and entailing all things learned, experienced and ever thought. But because of the captain and company, all will be placed into the two talked about till I find my sword being plunged in the strongest of giants with no right or wrong way.

                Tis a cause of doctrines and future rights when I look upon the reflection of glass just to see what the vastness inside holds anyways. The constant hellfire of the demonic, yet the sky-longing heaven angels, but being human…of course I am both combined. A mediator, a dam to stop the flow, and the Sapien I am called. To what am I calling out if I am both? How to reach out to the masses if so general? How to clutch the future leaders of the free world and leave them quaking at the armies I have perfected? A larger manuscript is not a bigger gun I’m afraid, so in shortness of breath this must be. It must. Since the wise men who speak cliché also tell of small packages and their damages…and their prices…