[size=150]Many have turned to stone from their trials in life; few have turned into beautiful stones throughout time; the flames of our world can resonate with creativity; or petrify us with its gaze unto depravity. Passion is a loyal flame that flows through you to light up the whole world; pride is a disloyal flame that wallows untrue which brought us a poor world. My passion fell in love with someone that held onto her pride, although it did not take me long to decide; I wanted her to be by my side, despite the nature she hides. She’s beautifully mysterious, yet chooses the stone over the diamond; she’s confusingly furious, with one atoned experience away from climbin’. She refuses to turn me into stone, though the snakes on her head are more prone; I stare into her eyes as if she were alone, this is how the snakes’ anger has grown. Now I know that she is not the snakes, and the snakes are not she; I will find a way to slay the beasts; for that day will come when I shall give her what she needs. As my love grows for her, the hate inside her grows with it in turn; my love is replacing the madness that stirs, which is responding by making my dearest burn. This monster inside her will never survive by me, its teeth filed and its needs reconciled; with me she saunters; with the monster it haunts her; I am unfazed by the bones in the pile; without being enraged by the defiled. These snakes try to tell me lies, but I know the heart’s rule of which it abides; I cannot fall in love with snakes, so I can see her through the mistakes. My heart wouldn’t be beating if her soul really was seething, nor would I have new things to say if she kept repeating; every part of me knows she does not intentionally deceive me, therein I believe she will keep on breathing… ~ HMIE[/size]
You are right, in spite, …the dance
, the seven veils. Be-ware, of ever
reaching the eight.