Sinnerman Iconoclast: Against the World in the Palm of My Hands.

Amidst the blue skies

A link from past to future

The sheltering wings of the protector

The flames of hatred scorch the skies

Igniting Gaia’s funeral pyre

Amidst the eternal waves of time
From a ripple of change shall the storm rise
Out of the abyss peer the eyes of a demon
Behold the Razgriz

Its wings of black sheath

The demon soars through dark skies
Fear and death trail in its shadow beneath
Until men united wield a hallowed sabre
In final reckoning, the beast is slain

As the demon sleeps man turns on man
His blood and madness soon cover the earth
From the depths of despair

Awaken the Razgriz
Its black wings ablaze in majestic light

Focus

Control

Resolve

A true ace lacks none of these attributes

Nothing can deter you from the task at
hand

Except your own fears

This is your sky

Your world

For after all what is man in nature?

A central point in between nothing and all

And infinitely far from understanding
either

Then nothingness was not

Nor existence

There was no air then

Nor heavens beyond it

Who covered it?

Where was it?

In whose keeping?

Was there then cosmic water?

In depths unfathomed?

All held the finite and infinite as
unrelated.

None could foresee

That the history of the two would become
one

Without beginning or end

The ring stretches to infinite.

Vestige past more, and almost a decade

How long does one lick his wounds?

And stare to the empty canopy above

Quiet drizzles that cleanse the hair

And brushes of the flowing breeze

Yet, though an empty yet intense gaze

There is still no voice, no answer

I have found the deepest recess in my heart

Unchanged by time, seasons and other souls

First moments, glory was beside me

There was great honor

And the charades of it all came

Audible and ecstatic

There was a great surge within

Holding the book of sages and the quill in on hand

The oriental blade in the other

The gift that fortune bestowed upon

For goodwill and ambition

All seemed noble and firm

But I am a fool

And think again

If what I believe is not here and living

Are they really there?

Perhaps, only living in a world clouded

By the sweet mist of fantasy

And indulged myself with sweet wine of dreams

To hope, to love, to love

So, now how and why?

How long have I been listening?

To that brand of sweet poison?

This is a world filled with a hidden hatred

Where fingers point the blame

To pull the trigger

Where tears are barely noticed

And the cries are muted

Why do I believe?

The harshest road these days

Holds little reward in this age

For how selfish people can be

The pains and affections of someone

Are mere tools for a material purpose

A world lying to its own kin with deceit

The delicious lure

That attracts the desperate and the dumb

And what of love?

Lost its sacred aura

We only have ourselves an animal spirit

Whose drunken orgy favors

Only a violent, aggressive pleasure

That corrupts the princes and maidens alike

Turning them nothing more

Than mere manipulative pimps

And seductive vixens

They know not of the true nature of intimacy

How kind, gentle and patient love is

But only wild debauchery

In which they slander, mock and doubt

The true spirit of affections

If this is such a truth

Why do I still fight for this world?

Why do I love someone?

Who gives the gift of pain

And teaches me to smile while I suffer?

That woundedness is virtue

And that no reward is still worth doing

Perhaps, I am truly a fool

A blind soul

Who believes that even in such vain endeavors

Something is worth doing

Even to the point of madness

The whole world will not shed a tear

Not even that special someone would show pity

But that is all I could believe in

Even if such a torment is chaotic

There is really nothing else to believe in

Thou artisan of the eternal beauty

You who canst not deny

The wonder of art of the night

That of mystery surrounding us

As your eyes ripple

Like that of rain drops

Falling on the quiet lakes in Arcady

Never forget, you genuine genius of beauty

That in your hands

Your eyes

Your lips

Your voice

Those hold the power of light and darkness

Within a painting of awe

Or a serene sculpture

The Wanderer above the Sea of Fog

Oh, of Venus de Milo

Even in brokeness

In imperfection

You see and beauty

Never fail to believe in yourself

Because in itself, that is beautiful