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Do you ever scream in anger at the stupidity we call sin? Do your fists flash out of their own accord, a tool of beast within? Men rail against time’s injustice but against it can do nothing more, yet man’s inhumanity to each other is sin we must abhor. In living do we deal in truth and kindness or do we steal and lie? Will we recognize the power within or merely wilt and die?

As youths we think to live forever and believe that we just might, but as death leers with evil grin we soon cower in our fright. No matter how each plays his hand we’ll surely end up in defeat, we create sweet lies to comfort self before we’re buried in the deep. In our anger at mortality we sit and curse the night, but when we live life honestly we may ignite a holy light

Denial of our anger seems naught but whistles in the dark: I long to dis-spell the power of injustice; suffocate its spark. We are imperfect dreamers, vessels made of rough thrown earthen clay; dare we rise above our pettiness and on the weak no longer prey? Or are we stuck in clinging mire, our wheels spinning in oozing mud? Can we honor all in our living; put sweet love ahead of blood?

For at the end of living we all shall rot deep in the dark, and the treasure that we are gleaning no pleasure will it impart. I have no answer for the anger that walks with us to life’s end; I know to keep my fists down as on this trek I try to ascend. On each day from flawed beginnings I set forth with mortal heart. Forgive me, friends my trespasses as I struggle in my part.

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