The salient cries of a strong man, resembles the scars of a lion’s face after battling.

Battles with the other tall and strong figures, demons, demons of a tall stature.

Demons that claw back with wit and superb strength.


The fight and struggle to become someone, something, that can defeat these monsters, is long enduring.

The fact that it is long occurring, is the single motivation for the strong man to conquer and eventually outlast, the darkness of life and it’s eventual fate.

The silent cries of a strong man.

It resembles the last whimpers of an ending clash, between darkness and light –

Between the two creatures that fight.

Between the paper, and pen that is made to be set right…

The divine woman, the external help,

the divine feminine is sought after by this strong man who is addicted to highs.

Who is victim to his own lies, and urges.

Who is not afraid to admit that he is utterly human, yet, harshly consumed by the fact that he is in truth – weak.

Whispering in fright.

Yet, screaming with strength in the darkest of nights.

Weaker, and weakest than the sunken place that he’s withstood and experienced firsthand.


How does one recover with strong grace?

With power.

With honesty.

With truth.

Evolution, the answer.

Don’t lie to self…

Evolving in one’s nature, is the surest way.

To have belief in the unknown, and known.

To have belief in the mistakes and bold triumphs altogether.

To say, in the face of expression, that the expression can eventually become a reality of purest emotion and longevity.

Of things set right.

Of things realistic and progressive.


Sometimes hiding behind words,

Sometimes, fighting behind those beautiful and strong words – I become stronger with a authoritative authorship.

Yet, clawing still back at the fact of my condition.

The ambiguity is still clear.

fear, is still the motivation to have war like passion to conquer the world.

The world inside.

The world outside is too massive.

Too grand of a pursuit to become a conquerer in.

Locked in.

Face to face with myself, I must become – my self.

I must continue with grit, to defeat the fear -like demons of within.

Those demons never strong enough to outlast me, no matter how big and scary.

I am just as big and scary.

I am just as beautiful and good.

Whether these sins are apart of my nature or not, I must and will become myself.

I’m perfect in my imperfection.

Fear is within me, it is the thing that breathes its own life.

The more I make acquaintance with it, the sooner I can slay it with focus.

Until then, it is coiled around my neck, clamoring into my mind from my ears and visions.

Visions in the day, and dreary dark.

I can’t see, but I can feel my way through this.

But I refuse to lose…

I am the source, the human who is in control.

Who has the final stand and hold.


And with heads it comes again, and again that mythologically appear.