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A clamour of words

It wasn’t as if I’m innocent, murdered me bloody and left me to bleed. My demise would be despised by many while my life glamorised in the media. The pain of death is deep, deeper than any wound. When your hope is placed upon a person and then their lives get cut short. Oh what injustice is done on the earth? And the murderer remains merry and cares nothing less for your pain. Oh how the heart just wants to rip that person to pieces that they may taste the grieve that you feel. But we know that all around people die and most of us are indifference to it unless the pain is closer to home. This is natural but we ought to care more for the grieving and those who have lost everything. For indeed I have noticed that man is quick to judge. Man is nothing but a hypocritical fool. Many get angry when a great injustice is done unto them, even if it’s a little but the reply against such is further injustice towards him who offended them. Who is the better? I’d say neither of them but this is the reward of revenge; more revenge until the dust settles and generations have passed and a treaty is made. All flesh is grass fading away, why should I work so hard only for me to leave it behind. Whoever went to war without counting his losses whether it would benefit him to go? Such a wise king will know when to wage war and when to buy time to his advantage. Surely life is like a flower of the field but the flower is rather more beautiful, more clothed and knows not of the cares of this world that ravishes the soul of man and drives him to despair. The fools laugh keeps him disillusioned and thus he spends his lifetime doing nothing. He makes pleasure out of everything and doesn’t consider the seriousness of life and does not realise that his breath is but futile. Yea, Futile as the wind that blows in the east. Nothing lasts and nothing ever will. Many great men have come and go and the glory that they left, they never enjoyed but rather they sit in sheol and it was as if they have never lived. And those upon the earth who considers these men as the epitome of greatness are but fools for their greatness could not save them from the grave, that grave in which all men must return in which my soul so loathed but yet has a strong desire to visit. What is the meaning of life? for when one considers the history of man, it is nothing but bloody, yes a bloody story full with all sorts of wickedness. Every good came at a price, no victory was won without a sacrifice. What is this place, this scene of darkness that lays beneath me. For my soul remains unsettled and this body has become a plague. A plague of unsatisfied desires that tarnishes the soul. I remain nothing but 80 years upon this passing city and then it ends, everything to me crumbles and I am no more. Then why is eternity placed upon my heart, why not just end it now and the truth shall soon reveal itself to me. For truly it is stupid to think that what happens after death will be different for each one according to their own imagination. What a stupid thought, for as the sun rises upon all so will death come upon all and the truth will reveal itself and will be unchangeable. As one as no other option but to submit to the sun, for surely one cannot say to the sun please do not rise today, you wasn’t a plan in my thinking. I did not believe you will rise. Tell me will the sun listen or will it not carry on in its course. So it will be for all men, after death you will meet the truth and it can not be altered. The old as well as the unborn meets such a such and thus it will be for all mankind. What then can I do with my futile life? what is there that will last forever and I can see its fruit for myself and reap the reward for all eternity, what is there to labour for that death will not destroy. Another thing of burdensome is the burden of bonds. Why is there such a connection among man that one cares for such a such and when that such a such is hurt one feels internal pain and wants to relive that such a such of the pain. Why does one feel obliged to help? For in the end a mans soul will only reap sorrow because death will separate them at last. Cruel is the voice of death for it gives one no warning but comes at will, death comes with his firery sword and cuts the chord of love and drives ones soul to deep misery. Man is truly cursed, cursed are you oh man, for truly it is better not to have lived, that ones soul could have died at birth. For truly the day of ones death is sweeter than the day of their birth. For one comes out crying and helpless, weak and knows nothing. The cold surround you and disease becomes your friend. You become hungry and you experience the eternal hatred of man. You become attached to those who will in the end perish. You experience joy and laughter which only leaves the soul in greater pain for it does not last. No it doesn’t, nothing last. This misery of life, for many say it is a gift, but its no gift at all. It is what they call hell, hell lived out. The poor; how contempt must fill their soul. For daily they labour with hard graft to feed their families, they toil and toil restlessly surely that which they toiled for soon will die and their labour will be but vain; yes vain indeed.

But rejoice O man, for Christ has won the victory. Death is swallowed up. Nothing done for Him will ever be in vain. For He is the light of men, the light of men indeed. Do you not see that it was for Him that I was made, it was all for Him. Rejoice and be exceedingly glad, for only if you will to receive him, He shall at once fill you with hope and purpose, joy and peace. For he takes delight in those who are weary and heavy laden for he loves to comfort their miserable souls. He gives fullness of life that even when the flaming arrows of death is set upon your soul, laughter will be the answer of your heart and a peace shall fill your face that even the worst devil will marvel and glorify the king. Be of good cheer my fellow man, for Christ has overcome the world.



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