Man Victorious

In my tribulations, I find inspiration, and in my inspiration, I find peace; I set the fires of my past to burn and light the path to my future. I will take control of what pains me and tame it. I am the master of my emotions. I will battle the demons that seek to enslave me, and I will devastate them with furious retribution. I will seize the very foundations of my suffering and build upon it the monument to my success over the shadows that haunt me. I will not fear the darkness, for it will serve my purposes, and from the chains it had bound me in, I will break forth and be set free by the very hands that I was imprisoned. I will be liberated, bathed in the sins of my past, and from the terrors that have haunted my dreams and the ghosts that have plagued me, I shall be cleansed, and I shall be Man Victorious.

The Desert of Dreams

As I lay down, head resting upon the ground, I cannot help but feel the air around me. The smells that woft on the midnight breeze, the aroma of the flowers in the fields, of the fires of many, who dare to dream. I am a dreamer. As I walk through this desert, I can feel the cold touch of the night air, the stars and the moon light my way to better days. I can hear the voices of those who without thought or recollection tell tales of better days. The dreams of the past have become lost, stranded on a sea of despair. I see the campfires, the sparks fly into the air, caught by the currents, and are carried away. I dream of better times, of a love I can share, of an adventure to unkown lands, of exploring the dreams of those who have been lost. In this desert, I can see the vast waterfalls, great canyons of golden rock, I can see a jungle of rain, a sea of trees washing upon great stones given forth from the earth. The dreams of these people, my kin, are not lost on me. I see their dreams, because they are also mine. I see two lovers in an eternal embrace, lost in eachothers eyes. I Weep. The beauty of the dreams of these people makes my heart ache, for even in this cold, unrelenting desert, there are those who still dare to dream.

"When the mind screams, it awakens the soul, it cleanses the spirit, it stirs the emotions in ways only the foolish or the beautiful could dream, could see unfolding right before their eyes, the great spectrum of color and sound that drenches the senses and eases the inner being into a lucid dream. Now if our bodies would stop and listen, now that would be the greatest gift of all..."

Ending

Undaunted by the falling sky, the rising sun, the wanderer drifts aimlessly through the barren desert wastes, alone, beaten, and shamed. In spite of all his strength, he only found failure, and defeat, at the hands of those whom he loved and trusted most in this world. Sweat sleeks its way down his brow, the sun hot upon his barren skin, the taste of water he has not known for much time. He has lost his way in this lonely forgotten land, the paths have led him and gone astray in a land gone asunder. "How did it come to this?" He asks himself. "Must I bear this burden alone...?" He dreams of better days, of running along green lawns, dancing in the summer nights under the moon, under the stars, amongst the fireflies while friends and lovers gathered round campfires weaving tall tales, drinking in the ale of life and sharing in their joy and happiness. O How those joyous days of peace were great, but now they have gone, squandered by the wanderer, taken for granted as he now pines for those days again. Will he ever find peace, this lowly wayward wanderer? He dreams of the day when he can once again partake of the drink of life, of the great dance and song, of the joys of being alive and free. He dreams of cobblestone streets, dimly lit by the sun, trees lined on the edges standing tall and proud, children running through the streets without a care in the world, an ode to the days of yore long spent upon the dawn of a new and reckless age of corrupt abandon and contempt. He weeps at this thought. "How did it come to this...?" He thinks in his mind. His thoughts race with the nostalgia of years past and long gone, but never forgotten, for they are always on his mind, as waves upon a depthless and endless sea, rising and falling and churning, never ceasing to make their presence known. He collapses to the cold unforgiving ground, sand drifts by in the wafting breeze about him, the moon bright upon the blackened night sky, tears of silver stream from his face as the light from his eyes slowly begin to fade into oblivion...How did it come to this...?

The Search

He wanders through the tress, listening with his ears, looking with his eyes, searching with his heart for something that he has longed for all of his life. This, the the lowly wanderer, however, is lost. Lost amongt the great sea of trees that flood the landscape ever more even beyond the eagles eye it stretches, and he does not know the way. He knows what he searches for, and yet, does not know, and this is a burden to him, he who searches high and low for his one true happiness, but is unable to find it. Through cold harsh winters and blistering summers he endures, through rain, through wind, through sickness, through pain he endures, hoping, praying that he will find what he seeks, what he has been seeking all the days of his life. He knows that the forest is by far grander than any he has ever seen, the great tales of the forest stretch far beyind the imagination and what one could put on paper with pen and ink. The legend of this forest way on his mind, he knows many who have gone before him and have claimed their prize, rejoiced at their triumph, and returned to their homes victorious, and yet he searches still. He searches knowing that he may never find what he seeks, he searches knowing of the joy that others have that he pines for, longs for, still longs for even through all the bitter pain and anguish he suffers through in the days of his life. He dreams of her, sees her move like a gentle breeze through the tress, he gives chase, he calls to her, but et as quickly as she came, she is gone. This dream torments him each night, he knows she is within his grasp, but yet he knows not her name, or her true identity, all he goes on is the hope that the dream may someday be proven true, and that he may find his one true happiness, that he may one day be whole...

The journey home

A great wind washes over the vast sea of light, as the man in the sailboat tries to steer the course right, try as he might the sailboat will not steer, he begins to doubt himself as he wells up with fear, for ahead of him lies a great black vicious storm, he wishes he was back in the comfort of his home, but he knows down inside that he must go on, fate pulls him ever forward into the great world beyond, as he goes sailing on into the great unknown, he is soon to find out that he not at all alone, a voice on the wind moves swiftly through the air, such a love in this voice and with such gentle care, "Do not be afraid for I am the great I Am, I will steer you the course with my own mighty hand", doubtful at first and with a question or two, the man in the boat is not sure what to do, "I cannot see you'', he says, ''so how do I know that your there?, how do I know you are real, that you’re the voice in the air?'', ''Many have asked'' the voice says, ''and many still do not know, I cannot tell you what to think, what to speak, or what to know, it’s the choice in your heart that you make to decide, whether you believe in me or not, I will still love you with pride''. The man feels humbled, but still at a loss, as his boat begins to turn, and the waves start to toss, the blackness surrounds him as he tries to sail through, but the man in the boat doesn't know what to do, he cries out to the voice that he heard in the air, and he waits for a response that he begs will be there, the boat keels over into the thrashing cold waves, the man is now trapped in a watery grave, suddenly he feels a mighty tug on the boat, he is yanked from the water and the boat set afloat, "I have heard your cries", the voice speaks loud and clear, "as long as your fatih is with me you have nothing to fear" The man in the boat filled with a new inner life, commands the boat through the black storm without strife, as the clouds clear away he sees land up ahead, a great golden kingdom lies upon the beach head, the man rejoices as the voice speaks aloud, you have earned this my child, and for this do be proud, your family and friends await you beyond the gates, where there is no more pain, nor sorrow or hate, "I thank you" he says fighting through all the tears, "because of you I have learned to fight through all of my fears" "It was your faith" the voice said "that brought you through the storm", and although it may have seemed like you were on your own, I watched over you and I watch over still to my great golden kingdom that lies on the hill, now go and rejoice for you are no longer alone, for heaven awaits you, my friend, welcome home.

My Life

My life is a short, but sad story, of this I can truly be sure. For the good things I feel, touch, smell, hear are real, but change as the waves on the shore . Sometimes they run high, proud and mighty, sometimes they run low, light and dim, it just all depends, but when the good things do end, my life starts to 'come very grim. I try not to admit my own weakness, but sometimes it comes bursting through. If I ever seem sour, or cross, do not cowher, it's probably not aimed at you. I'll admit I'm in love with a stranger, and I always end up thinking why, I pour all my heart and my soul and my self into a love that just could be a lie. I'll admit I have not been the best man, I'll admit that I have been a fool. But doesnt it seem odd that a kind loving God could sometimes just seem all to cruel?