Dreaming the "I".
April 30, 2013 at 7:43 pm
(This post was last modified: April 30, 2013 at 9:08 pm by Mystic.)
No matter how deceptive
Love has to dream
Who are we even?
Are we a fantasy made up?
With no substance to back it up?
Does love have no purpose?
And just seems beautiful to make us survive?
Can it even be praised in any instance?
Or is praise but a fantasy dreamed up too?
Dreamed up because those who dreamed survived
Those Creatures who wanted to thrive believing in their fantasy of themselves
Was it real? How do we define it?
Can we touch who we are?
Can we taste it?
Can we see it?
Can we hear it?
TaHa
YaSeen
These letters meant so much to me.
How can we know ourselves?
What makes our perception true?
The dearest of our beliefs
Do they have any evidence?
Or we are forced to take them on faith?
With no way to survive else wise.
Evolution isn't beautiful to me.
Scares me shitless every time I think about it.
The truth was suppose to set you free,
So they said, but perhaps it imprisons the mind
Wisdom is suppose to be exalted and beautiful, so we think,
But what if it is a dark void?
Sophia - Where are Thou?
I want to know you
But I'm afraid I'll find nothing there...
Philosophy is the search of wisdom
But perhaps, indeed, Sophia is not there.
Or perhaps it's inside of us.
Beautiful yet fragile
And we are suppose to protect it.
With a promise to our souls
That we would protect it.
Dreaming the "I"
If that's the case
I'll believe in it for now...
To afraid to wake up
To voidless emptiness.
Love has to dream
Who are we even?
Are we a fantasy made up?
With no substance to back it up?
Does love have no purpose?
And just seems beautiful to make us survive?
Can it even be praised in any instance?
Or is praise but a fantasy dreamed up too?
Dreamed up because those who dreamed survived
Those Creatures who wanted to thrive believing in their fantasy of themselves
Was it real? How do we define it?
Can we touch who we are?
Can we taste it?
Can we see it?
Can we hear it?
TaHa
YaSeen
These letters meant so much to me.
How can we know ourselves?
What makes our perception true?
The dearest of our beliefs
Do they have any evidence?
Or we are forced to take them on faith?
With no way to survive else wise.
Evolution isn't beautiful to me.
Scares me shitless every time I think about it.
The truth was suppose to set you free,
So they said, but perhaps it imprisons the mind
Wisdom is suppose to be exalted and beautiful, so we think,
But what if it is a dark void?
Sophia - Where are Thou?
I want to know you
But I'm afraid I'll find nothing there...
Philosophy is the search of wisdom
But perhaps, indeed, Sophia is not there.
Or perhaps it's inside of us.
Beautiful yet fragile
And we are suppose to protect it.
With a promise to our souls
That we would protect it.
Dreaming the "I"
If that's the case
I'll believe in it for now...
To afraid to wake up
To voidless emptiness.
