Come, Sweet Night of Slumber

September 08, 2015

There will always, perhaps, from the start of man's intuition to think, will be individuals who scoff and scorn the works of those who do their best to continue in the matter of life. Awhile, it would seem, as I have noticed from the start, like the mind in its glorious sanity, and breathtaking spiritual unstable conjecture, comes the thought that man will always be sinful, and will result in saying evil toward people whom, I say, or write, both believe and simply do not, in the Christ. I have, for many years, yes, hundreds, continued to live in this world at the birth of the moon, thinking of the dragons that settle in the sky, shrouded in stars of the night. Indeed, these beasts of magnitude, pronounce themselves clean before the Lord, and here I am, spotless onto His sight, I caress the beauty of price.

For now, I shall examine the room that portrays the world I live inside. The world is filled with sin, but the condoning of sin causes men and women to bleed in self-murder, because, as it is, the, say, fulfillment of dressing the colors of red are adjacent with the colors of purple, and black, like a ravens wing. Long, ominous, and dreary to examine, the spots of black, shall over extinguish the prostitute of its desire. I have, for such a long period of time, tied down the resentment that challenged me to kill oneself onto death, where the sting of the blade onto the chest cavity would purpose a death worth mention as I would hand this soul onto the demons, where none understand what is about, as the doors are locked, compromised, and deadly onto satisfaction.

The table, as I sit here in this chair of wood, complies different strands of ink, but is but the same exact change of discernible thought, which was produced from the imagination of the artist. Here I comprise great challenge, and look, and examine the table with turbulent thought. The thoughts of man shall look onto this writing and table of thought with desire to kill, but I shall tell them simply, in a casual production of words from the tongue, “Ah! What horrendous thoughts you have o' man, always appearing in the night, and never leaving the household you behold to tell those of your friends during the night, during the time of light and day.” But I am not simple, as I understand that men need to work during these times sometimes, and with that, I conclude this oblivious statement.

“Who am I to tell the man, 'o what can possibly occur to me since I am young?” said I, feeling with sensations that come from the heart, simple, and chosen to believe in God. “Come here, Lord Jesus Christ, as I am free from the rule of Satan and his minions developing compassion for the world, as, because, they know their end, in the lake of flame and sulfur, whatever sulfur might be. Come to me, Lord, as I am possible toward excited thought, that never surrenders.” I don't need to let people hear me, anymore than I do need to talk with the tongue I possess underneath the roof of the mouth. Those who read this piece of literature shall be consumed with ever-lasting light, that promises loving change, and possible exportation of dramatic transmutation. Indeed, the demons that can not be seen, not even from those who wear the ring of Judas, can become fake onto natural elements. Indeed. Most, indeed.

“Dear, would you mind turning out the light,” I ask my wife, Veronica, whose burning darkness continues to hope onto the Christ. She looks at me, sees me laying on the bed with one hand purposed onto the eyes, covered valiantly. She looks away from me, my face still burden onto her image of thought. The broken promise I had told earlier has still been interacted onto her, and she still believes that I shall consume that hate, and promise again. But, as it would be, still, I have consulted her, even, should I say, told her that I would do the best I can possibly do, and enacted great change onto those words. The light was settled, and she pressed the wire downward, the fan still running on high end speed, rotating naturally, and forbiddingly with promising naturally causing electric passion.

“Thanks, but I still can't sleep,” I said, uncovering the eyes. “I need to understand the basics of life, and until that day, should I continue?”

“Of course you should continue, husband of mine,” she told me, briefly, reaching for the bed with both hands, arms stretched inwards onto me, near the knees. She pressed in onto the bed, between my legs, covered in blackened colored jeans, which haven't been washed for some different time, now. Veronica slid past me, and placed herself onto the bed, covering herself with her covers, the covers I was laying on. I stood away, and with the placement of the feet and hands, lift myself from the bed, so, that, indeed, she could place the covers over her body. She closed her eyes, and exalted the Lord onto that instance, with a brief breath of life from the Holy Spirit. I was classified as true, and was blessed by her words, bringing me thought that promised me truth.

“I will do the best I can to fall asleep,” I said, closing both eyes, the darkness settling on us both. The black curtains on the windows, draped no night light from the street to enter our cave of household room. “Veronica?” I asked in a question, her name, of course.

“Yes?” she said, and again, without a question mark, she said, “yes.” She moved closer onto me, nearer the lips, and kissed, not on the mouth, but on the side, probably because of the smell of chesterfields. Old and weary, protecting the matter of the month. I imagined us together, in togetherness, with the chest of thought being naked onto one another, but, as it is, I shall not confess death. As it has been sung, “love knows when to say, 'no'.”

Indeed, this is the tale that has occurred onto the mind, onto this instance, written in tale form. I shall continue to understand the basics of this love, this challenge which will concur eventually every single day that matters to me. Hopefully, in matters, I shall not become depressed, and should I, well, let's not dissuade the life of this woman, as she loves me true through Jesus Christ, the Son of God.

The morning came quickly, as we decided to sleep; somehow, able to fall into slumber and awakening at four in the morning, with the darkness still entertaining the birds, which are not seen flying, but heard flapping in the quite. I smoked another cigarette, enjoying the smoke, and the entail of breath that exhaled the silky desert onto that room, where I sat, satisfied and probable toward love. None, as I have said before, can predict the future, and I am uncertain how I shall act when I do, indeed, become mortified in the mind with his woman. Will I abandon her, like the others have done? Or shall I place a shovel underneath her body, filled with the soils of the earth, containing the weeds of desertion, placing her in the swamp? How do I hide the vehicle? Perhaps, maybe, I will not need to produce death onto this woman, as she does, most likely, most probable, love me onto instance, and forever and ever.

I prayed, earnestly, for about a shot of hours, continuing in thought and tongue. Whispering in words. Indeed, I find this an example of love, in which the Lord can hear, fighting the battles of darkness that want to produce in me examples of destruction and death. But, as it is said, the Lord ascended into Heaven, alive, and well, to tell the tale. “I believe, onto the faith Jesus Christ offered me, and, thus, I prop the negotiation of the world into the well dug dip into the sands, where only mud and matter of droplets of sand are propelled to exist.”