Transferring thoughts to words, this I could suppose, is what God has given me, the subtle gift of prose. When you are cursed with constant thought one needs a form of vent. Kind of like that relieving feeling when you eat meat after lent. It’s an output, an open ear, a way to channel love and fear. A simple method to define the madness, with means to an end and not feel callous. This is contradictory to feel what cannot be felt, it is almost like selling carats although no gold was smelt. The everlasting glory of gold is best defined in a diamond ring, it’s forever and always like the way I think these things. I do not know how, or why or what or when, or even the exact time when all these thoughts began. I only know to harness them, and make them my own, write it down on paper or etch it into stone. This is how things work these days, nothing but thoughts and words. No courageous battles, of love and shields and swords. Chivalry is simply said to long since have been declared dead. But I tell you no! I say this isn’t true. Chivalry lives inside me, and I’ll prove this to you. Even if it takes, one thousand or more cases, I will open doors and carry you across the floors, of broken glass with bloody paces. I will never let harm come to you, if ever I can prevent it, I will hold you with the deepest passion, and through that define Romantic. Never-ending love, like what should be felt for the lord Christ, he gives us hope, and truth and joy, he gives us forgiven life. He has given us so much, and so I guess that I suppose, that this is my way of thanking him, with my God-given gift of prose.
