Mundane oh mundane

For the time did so come to pass when all good things would fade away.

Perhaps not all good things. But perhaps not all.



When lines of thread are formed, they hold two pieces close together ever so warmly, ever so comfortable, ever so passionately. These lines were meant to be enjoyed and built on, always on evermore the path of which thus taken wouldst prove dificult, filled with treacherous windings and sharp thorns, snagging on clothes and scratching dainty skin.

But with such deformation comes ever beautifying reformation of this thread where both pieces shall grow closer still, thatwhich the thread couldst not do so without the walk through.

Yet... The thread in which was clung onto couldst thus not be held on dearly. The treachery of the path proved much too difficult for both pieces to walk side by side. Thus the thread was broken, leaving both pieces to walk their own paths, seeking perhaps more solitude and peace than when which was with the other.

It is akward not that such passion didst not grow. Perhaps a fool must've been so that thought such hunger couldst be brought together via mere perseverence and loyalties. Yet inasmuch, tis thus possibly not the undertaking of, for the passions grew differently.

So this piece once more walketh the thorny path with itself. No more with a thread which bindeth it and another hence together. T'was short, yet perhaps fulfilling in ways of some. Yet, both agreeing to the breaking of the thread felt more relief than grief. Perhaps it be wrong, perhaps it be alright. For which was worth the cost, it may not be surely calculated. But for sure which was that have happened...

T'won't be but distance in memories. T'shall be engraved such aswhich the other threads were. Wouldst it be a joyous engravement or an odious strike upon such rock, can not be foretold as of the moment. But in the times of which to come for, perhaps such of a past wouldst be remembered in smiling faces.

In hopes, it wouldst be.




Father of Heaven

Tired does I grow of this mundane presence. I be yet young, yet exhaustion does creep upon my back. The sackloads upon my back which be carried do I wisheth to be casted upon Yours, as You have asked. Yet to do so I know not the way, for faith groweth thin for this servant. Carry the sacks for others, do I too try, for wisheth to be in likes of Your gracious Son, dost my heart cling to. But even as do so I of these deeds, a place for me hath not been founded of.

Inasmuch, pray still I do for my best beloved and the friends inwhich whom I place my trust with. Be they for me or be they not for me, shalt be for them, I will. In hopes in time, Your servant shall be sent someone to love and guide him. If so have thus been done, prayeth Your servant for eyes to see and recognise the person inwhich has been sent. For blind perhaps, Your servant is.

Father of all, let blessings be poured on Ivan, Sandy, Ben, Jas, my mom, my sister, my grandmother, my aunts, and my cousins. Salvation be poured upon those whom dearest do I hold thatwhich have not seen Your amazing powers and felt Your love of endlessness.

In all that which have been given, give I thank to You.


Amen.