[Mince words] from one to two

A Poem by Abraxasbird

The Lofty and Beautiful

The majesty of words, so intricate, so indicative, so specific, can do more than ever intended.
When one dotes, one can incidentally threaten, loves may be heightened, sorrows may be deepened.
One may earnestly keep to his intent, and find perception was far from target.
The time I've spent, the time I spend, seems a resurgent question,
the hesitation that looms, the ambivalence that glooms, does nothing for produce.
For my views, I have the same fear, the fear of misuse. Then I effectuate everyone's right
to construe meaning with their minds, what they fathom with their own eyes.
True beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and for this orator, this declaimer,
True beauty is in simplicity, and complexity, damn near arbitrary. (Note the hypocrisy)
Voraciously, vehemently I speak. I only aspire to illustrate a philosophy , and nothing arbitrary.
Plainly, life's length is too pithy to corrupt with antipathy.
Hatred's animus, it's corruption, leads only to destruction,
of oneself and of the world; and love is anything that assures, you and your world on the mend.
Still, apathy will be a most vexing squall. In life, lack of feeling leads to lethargy,
the worse crime, wasted time, of all.
Wholeheartedly, admittedly I speak, consider your reading. Surely one can intuit what is really occurring.
I am only being distracting, only being unhappy.
But, do attend fervently, I am trying, to reprieve you this destiny.
Perhaps this writing, when I was sitting and concocting, thinking openly,
was a waste of efforts, a waste of time (the worst crime).
Perhaps it was foolish and ignorant. I suppose, it could be rubbish and arrogant. (I am but an ant).
All this could be; and very well be useless. All this could be unless,
unless, you did garner some insight, acumen, some understanding
that Mused you into some doing; doing anything to leave that abysmal rut of empty nothings;
unless, it could have distracted you from your sorrows, let you see beyond your burrows,
beyond your furrows of nothings, and warmed you thoroughly through to the essence of your being,
where change, and the majesty of its meaning, herald something heartfelt, something palpable.
I feel that all this I do with a single, subliminal goal:
To raise to a pedestal, and show, that the world is irreproachable in its truth and so are you.
And, by that knowledge, anything you undertake and anything you serve is good,
so long as it is done affectionately, fervently, warmly, makes you or your world around you glow.
For, alas we are all caught in the storm, The Furnace called Earth. Let us not be terse, but warm.
I oscillated myself for this culmination, for you, to effectuate some function;
for you to get something, anything from this communication.
I proclaim the world is fair, perfect in every facet, and f r e e from malice,
if, and maybe only if, you, too, are apart from malignant intent, for death is an art.