The Inexpressibility; the eternal struggle:
The strugglesome perpetuity, of daily lament, and constant torment
Perplexity, how conflicting the belief in and ov god…,

The truth of it all is – love and hate are melded into one essence, a quintessence of sorrowful overture., but a state of eternalising gloom and dismay…

Understand, the entwining grasp of love and hatred, of hope and loss, of light and dark – struggles so deeply, how intently and infinitely, to simply love and accept god, or to hate and deny him…, the author of pain – for the despairing, how overwhelming, has taken its toll upon the spirit – for the soul is without rest and quietus, for what purpose does a god allow such suffering, inexpressible?  For what reason, to what end…, how could such cruelty be justified…, of all the troubles, and of the heartache of loss?  There is no greater pain, no greater wane – than the conceptual undertaking of the actuality of loss; of losing someone so beloved…

When in such a state of despairing permanence, seeming ineffable and perpetual, what is one to do?  Who is one to turn to?  Is the eve of thought – is the idea of god comforting to you?  Is he the cruellest one, or is the merciful and loving?

Is God the cause and root of all pains, or is he the pathway to ending the waned remembrances, so pained?  Is he the reason for our sorrows, for the taking of our beloveds, of our lost, or is he the rewarder of the faithful, and the keeper of the dead in faith and futility?

What is the godhead; what is the trinity doing, if not neglecting the very creation they incepted…, and for what grand purpose, if not cruel animus, and hopeless irredeemablility?

So, tell me…of what clay are you moulded?  Has darkness consumed you, through its depraved sentiment, and bitter nature, tollingly felling your soul through the errs of life?  Has light never abandoned you, has not the dark swayed and moved you, are you of peace, love and ignorant blindness, to the truth of what is – of life, and beyond mortal understanding, conformed to surpassed inevitability, of antipathy and selfishness? 

The Passion of the Beast, is of the most extraordinary construct; if we do not worship our dead – if not for sorrowed reprisal, and glooming reappraisal of our fallen and lost beloved, then of what use are we, and how definably incapable then – the character of light., where selfishness, antipathy and relinquishment entwine, consumed – by the semblance of the godhead., how holy and glorious, unsoundly, yet…eerily unfulfilling, heart-corrupting, darkening and unloving, unsolving and foretelling, the nature of light, and the essence of the highest; hark, feed the emptiness, but feel the embracing compassion of the beaten, broken and defeated darkness., weighing heavily – but I would rather, weigh heavily in defeatism and sorrowful disdain, but rather exist alone, amid the languishing abyss, of his eternally separating light, longingly conscious and aware of such despairing abasement, to have concept of loss…,

Love and bitterness, to never forget those once lived and loved, than to be abound, happily, healthily and praiseworthy, how vaingloriously, adorning the king of kings, with monumental thorns, for his kindest sacrifice, and all for the selfish endowment of the persona, of the personal lusts, hopes and longings, all whilst forsakenly and purposely forgetting the felled familial, the lost beloveds, and respited immutability, for the sake of continuity and blissfully unaware, and ignorant peace – free from the worries of the former things, reprieved from the recollections of the hurts and wants, of the lost and the damnably forgotten…

Where then, are you, in standing ovation?  Do you curse the creator, God – Adonai, YHVH, Almighty, or do ye praise him as though absolute and worthy?

I fell in love with the idea, but the conceptual framework and grasping of the all-encompassing, all-loving father, God.  Until personified, and understood, characteristically, the embodiment of his truer nature – the callousness, carelessness and unequalled unfair fating, of his utmost and truest nature…, now, endarkened and emblazoned, but refound and borne once more of fires so darkly, I accept the reprobated state, of my fallen, and said sinful nature, if such accounts for my compassion, and unforgiving stature…, as I will never forget the sufferings of the past, the grimness of the former things, of my belovedly lost., nor shall I forgive He, of the highest Principality, for allowing such tragedy to reign, strikingly – knowing well the pained staining, of hearts turned black and cold, against the god whom was not there…

Why, O’ Highest One, why – hast thou forsaken, even though pleadingly – the fleeting of mine essence and soul?  Why beget thee, forgetfully and forlornly uncaringly, your attest, so hauntingly foreboding in whole?  Why, Holy One, have ye not received my beloved, or pardoned them, on account through me? 

I love, and hate you, Lord Almighty; I revile and despise, adore and curse your very name…, passionately, and sincerely – awaiting your predestined fating, for my individuated person; foreverly…, reaching for you, yet…fearing, but abhorring the thought of you, and your twined embracement…, which way shall I go?  Left, or Right…, to walk the path of loneliness, or venture fatefully, as a fading and ghastly ghost – upon your narrow path…, never knowing, having only but uncertainty, to act as my torchbearer, personably, the shadowing of my footsteps, my waked remembrance, of known existence, forfeited to everlastingly, to exile and wonderment, within the corridors of the confined self, begotten only, to the remnant past…