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Description
To Write

To feel something become real through me. A need to create beauty. A want to be understood, or misunderstood, at times. A chance to express to others what I see. To explain to myself the world and all its ugliness, beauty and fault.

To create beauty

Like the idealists of Ancient Greece. A beauty so profound nothing compares. A chance, a dire need to fill this intoxicating earth with something pure. But is it truly pure or merely sacrilege? Is it an evil force in disguise, like Lucifer with his tattered angel wings and broken halo pretending to still be holy?

To become what I write

To be transformed with every keystroke or line of ink on paper.

To become something I am not.

Like Dr. Frankenstein with his monster, I am a creator, just another playing God for a moment. Disenchanted with this world, I vow to create and then destroy another.

To know just how ambiguous the life cycle really is, having qualities of beauty and then deformity and love then sincere malice. Knowing the sad truth: What goes up must come down. Inevitably, a living being will grow old and become decrepit. Ponder this: is it truly inescapable? Could the ball of life- thrown into the air by a preternatural being with the sole intention of letting it fall helplessly to the ground- be suspended indefinitely in the air? Outright defying all beliefs, a mockery to all existence. A grand statement of defiance.

Description
To Write

To feel something become real through me. A need to create beauty. A want to be understood, or misunderstood, at times. A chance to express to others what I see. To explain to myself the world and all its ugliness, beauty and fault.

To create beauty

Like the idealists of Ancient Greece. A beauty so profound nothing compares. A chance, a dire need to fill this intoxicating earth with something pure. But is it truly pure or merely sacrilege? Is it an evil force in disguise, like Lucifer with his tattered angel wings and broken halo pretending to still be holy?

To become what I write

To be transformed with every keystroke or line of ink on paper.

To become something I am not.

Like Dr. Frankenstein with his monster, I am a creator, just another playing God for a moment. Disenchanted with this world, I vow to create and then destroy another.

To know just how ambiguous the life cycle really is, having qualities of beauty and then deformity and love then sincere malice. Knowing the sad truth: What goes up must come down. Inevitably, a living being will grow old and become decrepit. Ponder this: is it truly inescapable? Could the ball of life- thrown into the air by a preternatural being with the sole intention of letting it fall helplessly to the ground- be suspended indefinitely in the air? Outright defying all beliefs, a mockery to all existence. A grand statement of defiance.