Neologism

My form of violence is the spreading silence when the internal voices are nothing but self-negating. I am detonated against the worry I wake up with - today I will not refuse to be that which is me. But before I have the opportunity to not refuse, I resist and the renegade begins. Again. If I didn't love death as much as I fear life, I may somehow learn that those verbs are only created in my misconceptions. Since I cannot conceive anything outside my concept of what is alive and that which is absent of life, I never really now if these two possibilities are separate entities. What if they mean the same thing? What if the deceased are not able to comprehend the living in the same way the living cannot identify with the dead? Then maybe those threats would be empty, benign and sordid. To see existence grasped on a notchless timeline, drawn to no knowable scale and in the middle of the longest run on, I may not waste creative space to pander my self-hatred and that denegation would be the greatest mockery of (wo)man. Rather I would wait not one more minute to make my wings the way of the majestic. The mourning that bellows - the unmuffled moratorium on mental misbehaving - is only the beautiful music that allows creation to reach out to creator in that one moment when a space between I and thou is recognized. Though the space may be small it is the only thing I can think about. It ravages my concentration. It demands my attention. It is the love I am learning to articulate and ambulate to a world I am called to make accustomed to grace and faith.

Because I create my misconceptions. Clarity is the universal denominator - the mathematical truth from Providence. I am the one making up words and the meaning to those words.