Disheveled intentions of wayward peace. Ill conceived plans of action. Idealist mentalities. Romping and throbbing aimlessly.
To fulfill none of intentions.
To make melody and rhythm. To be intoxicated by dance, instinctual movement churned by a beat.
Made strong is our belief in the moment, And in the pleasures of youth.
What we worship with our time. What we long for within our days toil.
That which keeps us going.
For us, There is but one God. And He is Love. She is Beauty.
For some he is hate.
There must be two sides to our world of duality.
For every glorious night filled with meaningless frolic, there equals a night of immense drab nature. Or violence. Impurity of souls desires.
From these nights, I hide in my pleasantries And conseal what strength I possess, As to not take action and entice my moral sense.
This is no time for heroics, I tell myself.
Not a night like this.