Sunday, 18 September 2011

A Superstition Of Misbelief

The conflict between belief and doubtfulness...

A manner so fervent and engulfing to be seen by some as mere masquerade. The deliberate distraction of ego; an unwelcome parody or the intractable disposition of an untoward rebellious spirit. The latter being of a living principle; employed as a valued vehicle of momentum, without which indecision would be ever present. 

Alas, it is too late; the gate opened, and the spectre given entry. Now the toxicity of doubt spreads viral through the pierced aperture of a moments lapse in composure.

Words that shine on a shadowed corner; which came from a place of kindness not malice and as such deserve to be heeded. 

I hold aloft this fruitful bounty of sublime reason, as if to perceive its truth. Against the light, its translucence only reveals a hint of the wisdom within.

Nevertheless, even the volume of my own will could not dull the glare of its judgement. Deftly working its way on a course deep into my inner sense.

Yet it is a thought I am intimately acquainted with; a most highly esteemed paranoia, long since buried, now resurrected. 

So it may be that refashioning of outwardness is needed. My only disinclination being: Could I stand to part with the extraneous parts of my character? The question of a backwards fall into the abyss of past behaviour, a haunting epitaph at this crossroads. 

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