The Final Barrier

Words are tools;

Axes and swords and hammers of those for whom

thought was created;

False guides of hope and prosperity while equally

dooming those whom would oppose.

Anger becomes truth, only if used to an end-

Spite becomes righteousness, if

the innocent can no longer defend-

Hatred becomes rule, if those who harbor it are seen as gods.

Faith is a fickle beast:

Taught yet adaptable;

Strict yet interpreted.

A world where faith is seen for honor and respect is a personalized utopia-

An end of humanity as seen from grace.

A human's belief and faith in death is what creates life.

Molds life.

Defines life.

Without the constitute of death, where is the difference

between present

and naught?

Without the finality of existence, what defines reality?

My dreams are my own.

My thoughts, my own.

But how am I to know what you are thinking?

What you are dreaming?

Only through the believed and perceived truth

of your interpretation

can I presume to listen.

Words are malleable;

As strong as a metal or plight, but bend without a second through.

Rules are rules, but who defines your laws?

And for whom were they written?

Society is held together with a tight fabric of faith, not HONESTY.

Is your's mine?

Is mine your's?

We'll never know, because you refuse to set aside banality and reality for your faith of

understanding...

Definitions are flexible-

Deemed to fit the answers the writers of history demand.

Cognizance is only defined from believed consciousness,

but are you alive?

                             Awake?

                                          A real?

What is your stance when your legs fail you?

When your mind deteriorates?

When you fail to exist beyond what memory serves, your face is no longer real.

                                                                                   Your faith is no longer yours.

Nor were either ever a reality.

Your existence is not of true thought.

Your thought is not true will.

Freedom is a price (for loyalty)

Freedom is a choice (for the entitled)

Freedom is a reality (for the faith)

Freedom is

A word

A thought

A belief

A fear

A defined future from the oppressed,

for they may never see the light of a new day,

but a new year begins every second.

A new human is created from your phoenix ashes every 7 oscillations.

Are you not free then?

Are you not a free and changed person?

Words define you, and yet they are tools.

You would no sooner define war with rulers, than the sun with flowers and bees.

Why should the tools of others define you?

Language is a manifestation of faith, a communal communication to determine one's beliefs.

But if words do not define you

 and

your beliefs are not to be believed,

what remains once your seat at the table is removed?

Words? Actions? Faith? Belief? Thought? Definitions? Reality?

Memory?

The human mind doesn't exist-

unless the human mind allows it to.

Paradoxical accords lay strewn about the altar of life

begging for-

pleading for-

asking for-

living for-

Whom?