Depths of FATE
I have written for men of knowledge, I have written to men of undoubted wisdom, I have spoken to men of great understanding, I have also written for the poor, the ignorant, the pauper and least the destitute...
In all these feats, one thing
astounds me; The SOUL of man...no matter how battered, how bruised or exploited, it still has a stem that sprouts with glittering hope and oases of expectations. To such ends, I can only say we are creatures of unimaginable divine resolve...
Our dreams, our hopes, our stories and all our struggles have aggregately, stirred and inspired us to keep fighting. These are the fountains that hold true, the prophesies of our birth.
In all my dealings and encounter with these people, I have at least learnt a lesson of Life's twisted dungeons of mystery, my orientation about the sojourn of life has reasonably gone through phases of encrypted modifications.
My conscience has suffered the most tempting trials of prejudice yet my heart remains resolute, not to compromise my judgements nor my philosophies of morals for the unforgivable results of man's wickedness.
Humanity is plagued, sadly with an unjustifiable corruption... Eating deep not only into our moral fiber but also into the delicate domains of our innate conscience. A corruption whose roots cannot be exonerated, a corruption whose genesis is as old as the fall of man.
In its malignant age, it has given rise to more cancerous individuals whose selfishness have produced unacceptable tonnes of filth, stench, oh mundane in our generation.
I am not talking about the injustices, exploitations nor the atrocities of greed but rather how our social relations have grown into hostilities, fellow-wrecking and prejudices.
The forces that held our forts, the powers that sustained our continuity were amours that were forged from the lingering vaults of love.
Let us go back to the days of old...let's seek the ways of old, let us enquire of the sacrifices of the men and women of old.
They lived in small hamlets, ate around a table of brotherhood, they sung songs that echoed the glories of their dreams.
As kinsmen, they were tightly knitted together by soul, willing to share the little they had out of the virtues of generosity, they fought for and laid their lives for one another by the power of love.
Men were content and humane...gentle even though brave. They lived simple and yet we still tell tales of their dignified legacies.
Every man has to learn his lessons, every one of us has to confront the bitter truth, that all men no matter their statuses, achievements, or pedigrees will one day, surrender their breath to the claws of death.
Just one day, they will lose a grave battle of life, sadly carried by men maybe preys of their earthly ambitions...buried and their memories hurriedly discarded like nightmares.
The fate of every man lurks in the circles of his self (the domain of human actions), waiting to befall him like the Apocalypse.
Let's us be wary
of our actions, mindful of how we treat our fellows, more careful of the names we make for ourselves...they reckon.
I have written for men of knowledge, I have written to men of undoubted wisdom, I have spoken to men of great understanding, I have also written for the poor, the ignorant, the pauper and least the destitute...
In all these feats, one thing
astounds me; The SOUL of man...no matter how battered, how bruised or exploited, it still has a stem that sprouts with glittering hope and oases of expectations. To such ends, I can only say we are creatures of unimaginable divine resolve...
Our dreams, our hopes, our stories and all our struggles have aggregately, stirred and inspired us to keep fighting. These are the fountains that hold true, the prophesies of our birth.
In all my dealings and encounter with these people, I have at least learnt a lesson of Life's twisted dungeons of mystery, my orientation about the sojourn of life has reasonably gone through phases of encrypted modifications.
My conscience has suffered the most tempting trials of prejudice yet my heart remains resolute, not to compromise my judgements nor my philosophies of morals for the unforgivable results of man's wickedness.
Humanity is plagued, sadly with an unjustifiable corruption... Eating deep not only into our moral fiber but also into the delicate domains of our innate conscience. A corruption whose roots cannot be exonerated, a corruption whose genesis is as old as the fall of man.
In its malignant age, it has given rise to more cancerous individuals whose selfishness have produced unacceptable tonnes of filth, stench, oh mundane in our generation.
I am not talking about the injustices, exploitations nor the atrocities of greed but rather how our social relations have grown into hostilities, fellow-wrecking and prejudices.
The forces that held our forts, the powers that sustained our continuity were amours that were forged from the lingering vaults of love.
Let us go back to the days of old...let's seek the ways of old, let us enquire of the sacrifices of the men and women of old.
They lived in small hamlets, ate around a table of brotherhood, they sung songs that echoed the glories of their dreams.
As kinsmen, they were tightly knitted together by soul, willing to share the little they had out of the virtues of generosity, they fought for and laid their lives for one another by the power of love.
Men were content and humane...gentle even though brave. They lived simple and yet we still tell tales of their dignified legacies.
Every man has to learn his lessons, every one of us has to confront the bitter truth, that all men no matter their statuses, achievements, or pedigrees will one day, surrender their breath to the claws of death.
Just one day, they will lose a grave battle of life, sadly carried by men maybe preys of their earthly ambitions...buried and their memories hurriedly discarded like nightmares.
The fate of every man lurks in the circles of his self (the domain of human actions), waiting to befall him like the Apocalypse.
Let's us be wary
of our actions, mindful of how we treat our fellows, more careful of the names we make for ourselves...they reckon.
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