[theMuzzl3]

Unwritten words are the best ones that would ever possibly be read.
Unheard songs are the greatest that could ever vibrate the ears in your head.
The only message that matters is the one that goes forever unsaid.
A butterfly's wings that are never to be flapped are the most beautiful of all flapping wings.
The 'Big Bang' implodes, and we're projectile vomited out unto another dimension.
Unaware of what becomes of us, we follow this One lonely Shepard.
God utters One indescribable Word; and we're all in shock, thunderstruck.
If you're down below, up above, or standing firmly on the ground… you best duck.
If he had just kept his mouth shut, none of these atrocities would have happened.
Maybe, the butterfly's wings would have rapidly consented to what We had imagined.
Without the horrible shit, we would be in no way capable of enjoying the nice things.
In this way, we could think of all of the wrongs that happened as necessary blessings.
Breath the air, touch a breast and smell a woman's soulful nest… we are not repressed.
Sex, Drugs, and Rock N' Roll is what got us here & now its heat that we fear… so confess.
For every wrong, there is a right. And, staying in the middle only continues the riddle.
The butterfly's wings never did flap… shit, it never even made it out of its cocoon.
Its like the 'profit of all profits' was greedy, and told us "what is what" during the fullest moon.
Monsters and horrors are everywhere; who in their right mind would not be scared?
Perhaps, not you? I dare you to cross the great river of fire, but don't forget to pay the fare.

The Shepard must feel pain and shame: knowing that his herd will never actually be heard.
Words came out slurred, and blurred visions incurred incarnations of that which has reoccured.
The sheep: buried beneath the rocks sheathing, unaware of what has hit them: are seedless.
Forcibly taught the rules of the universe by trial and error, they have now become needless.
Why would he have led them astray? There's noway they'd obey him now -- they're runaways.
Nowadays, they take no advice from his journey upon the maze of the sustained mountain.
Still, he displayed that the best way for him to show them the light, without any possible stain…
was for him to stand alone on the soulless ice… as a grateful and willing sacrifice.
Christ, its pretty nice to be able to 'roll the dice' and know that we'll still suffice.
But, in no ways does His suffering optimize or legitimize our form of "paradise".
We are made in God's own image, and this JPG picture says it all.
Every possibility of a world will pinup at least one scripture's flaw.

Comparison: unwritten reality becomes vaguely similar to the world we have already become.
One is One, whether we're standing and viewing from the glacial ice or living within a blazing sun.
Two is Two. Or, is Two Three? Maybe, The Tree Of Life shall answer me;
but I see no Tree's Response in the lava flow below, nor in the fiery clouds above.
----cut lines mended---- This poem has to be over.
Out of no where, comes a grey dove… symbolizing unanimous and unconditional love.
Cold, callous world: violently thrust unto warm comforting bosoms.
One can only hope and pray that this was the right place for us to blossom.
----the End---- I'll write more, when I'm sober.