Let me remind you of the gods.
They envy us. We are a proud human race, defiant still in our obvious mortal conditions. Our never-ending search for truth; what does that entitle you ask? -romance. Imagine the disposition of the gods. All is known, nothing is hidden. Therefore, hope does not exist, to either be found lacking or ever springing in the soul. There are no greater fantasies for the gods, no greater goal. Truth is concrete and plain. There is no passion, only mechanics. To be a god, there is nothing new or novel, your capacity to create has bored you in that there is no challenge but your own malleable laws. Alas, I am grateful I am no god. I face the unknown with a smile. I walk towards death with a new song in my growing soul. I know nothing other than what my senses tell me. Therefore I operate with freewill born out of predisposed ignorance. My life is novel.
-Chad Arnold
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment