Heretic

Lies and greed have constructed pillars made out of false hope that we break our backs to maintain.

We scourge for meaning in a life that is built around a complex in which none of this seemingly matters.

Yet it all matters at the same time.

Ideals forged in stone millennia ago can not be taken as empirical evidence today

Objective r can not be stated as the wants of the angels who choose to hide their faces from

the sky as if we are already lost in their loving eyes.

Are we too far gone?

Or are we desperately reaching out for hands that we have crated out of our thoughts of hopefulness

The power in words from thousands of years ago seem to have no foreseeable bounds

We use these testaments to testify against people we don't know in regards

to things we don't understand.

A pointless shell of a human existence doesn't seem so pointless when morality becomes

infused with ancient law.

Do we find that this brings us absolutely comfort, indefinitely?

How does melancholy soul-searching decay into blind acceptance and unelightenment?

Can a butterfly retract into a sheathe just to become a larva once more?

Progressing in belief sometimes means you lose your humanity.