The Intricacy of Intimacy

Don’t let me go…
Don’t leave me…
Don’t bid thee farewelling.,
Abandon me not, to the darkless abyss;
The sorrow so imprudent;
The waning struggle, inexorable.,
The longing, insufferable…,
The tormenting actuality, inescapable.
The great agony, so overwhelming, to bear witness to the antiquity of age, of timelessness and forfeiture – to have concept of the self…, to be aware of mortality., and all in knowing – the cruellest act ever purported by the creator, was and is – the intricacy of life., the frailty of the flesh, and the expiring realization, to the actuation of our finality.  There is no pain more profound, there is nothing more deeply resonating, lasting and innervating, such as the concept of loss – of eventuated death and ceaselessness.  How frail, how intricate, the flesh., and the instruments thereof – of the depth we feel, in the physical, and the spiritual…the disheartenment so felling to the very fibres of the soul, as though eating away at the febricity of the embodied spirit – of the quintessence resound within us., quietless, and nevertheless – redound.  What greater heartache is there than the sight of losing those we love so much?
What is the purpose to bonding, loving and befriending those in our lives, if but they are taken from us – always too soon, and always succumbed to tragedy, and harrowed endings.  If unending, life is – beseech me this, the unanswerable truth of your singularity…of your highest point, and greatest mind; allot me the understanding of your thoughts, wholly, encompassed…fill thee, thine empty vessel, with the wrathful glory of your godhead.  Rain down upon these lands so desolated, torrents of salt, sand and sulphur…free us from these bonds, let us be abound amongst you, and your glorious wonders; yea, enlighten us with the absolutist truth, and knowledge of all things., good and evil – dark and light.  Open our canonized vessels, entomb us in everlasting hellfire, foreverly burning as sacrament, to you – the evermore. 
Dear, Adonai, our creator, our father – our orator, and our author…, life is not as you see it to be – life is not a gift., as life is but profoundest, depressive, and forlorning…love is a curse, your one mistake – your flawed inception.  It hurts, it begets sinful respite, combative retaliation, and envied ruining.  To love so deeply, as you willed us to – is inexpressibly sorrowing, harrowing and unforgivable.