Wax Roses II

In mortal life, sin only follows you so far. Eventually all mortals are free once they are laid to Earth. But eternity, thyself will carry a stack of sin so burdening. It never makes its leave. And eternity, ever more time to collect more and more. Is it boring to live only one way when you have the entire world’s life to be? Or is it wrong to ever try to disrespect a creationists dream? 

When the creature was only mortal, God had set forth unfollowed dreams for thine path. Never forced to become a wax rose, it was chosen, but the god must’ve known this would happen. A cruel path that the creature could never be a true rose. And God laughed because it was an entertainment they so fondly cherished. For there must be someone to carry the sin of the world and why would it ever be he? 

The beast ponders if it had been a true rose, with velvety petals, what could have been? With the dreams that lay bare, what does it long for? Born nothing but a bud, there was no choice to be great as either. It is unfair. For as a true rose, the masculine, maybe it could be free. Centuries turn over like book pages and the only similar realization of each dawn is that nothing can ever be enough. See the beast of night was cursed to never be what it wished it could. Due to the former pedigree, it would never make sense to a natural born world. 

The sin rolls in thy mind like heavy boulders. If divine masculine had blessed this bod then maybe it could be. This is the only bell that tolls. There is no thought of trying to be what the beast truly is. There thy soul sucking creature stays in its castle of isolation, staring at foggy clouds. Not even visits of the suns most radiant ray could salvage this. 

The white patches of clouds remind mine of long organza. A fabric forgotten but still longing to be worn. These things, it makes the creature feel so burdened with sin that it could sink through the solid floors and to the core of the lands. The night can only offer so much power, the beast is simply what it is and no magic is coming to change it. 

But there is, a but beautiful dream. One that is gifted every so once in a decade by sweet night. This is where form is fluid shadow. There is no concrete and the beast may shift to be whatever it pleases. It is a wonderful dream. That is all it remains for the beast is only a beast, and the beast can only be made of wax and rot. It could never be a petal or a pure shadow that is entirely too beautiful to question its nature.