An old love letter to my lady of peace and platitudes, beloved Jewel.

The Paragon Sought

I shall begin this with a stanza I know you to have indelibly etched in your heart...

I said it again: Come with me, as if I were dying,
and no one saw the moon that bled in my mouth
or the blood that rose into silence.
Oh love, now we can forget the star that has such thorns!
-Manana with Pablo

The silence has ever been the worst enemy of life, and so I have met the silence with both confrontational and dispairagate tone. If it may not be understood thus, then I must lament the lack of scope of this and each letters recipients. Our unions worst enemy, it seems, has been (And I say this with the full weight of concept) my self perception. Alas, this is what befalls of the flesh, and the burden I must be freed of. Naturally, the best exemplification of this is to give my self to the selfless work, and so my ambition strives to such ends. I could never say if it is wrong to love you, let it be, for such connotations inherent in the speculative judgment therein would make me the unworthy body to share a world with you. Thus, I say now, as ever, that I cannot seek but to reveal the possibility of virtues paragon, dream but to seek the realization thereof, hope but to allow the fruition in sought dreams. Let this world be a reality constrained only to the informed, yea, the embodied knowledge of rational and impartial holistic acceptance. Death is healthy, for the universal scheme, in being an integral process to which all being is relative. Therefore, as with all things healthful, let it be taken in modesty and moderation, and as such make allowance for the selfless accession of a lasting and committed universal health. In this, as all things, I give my self over to all being, and await the inevitable reciprocation of righteous recourse to deliver us, in beauteous fashion, to each others side.