Oh How the Night Sky Screams Softly

I stand in the midst of wonder wondering why I stand in the first place. Not by a chance of interstellar explosion, but by hand I am crafted. My spirit and soul are sown into one making me who I am. I stand selfishly thinking the effect the world has on me, when I should ask a reverse and converse to others the effect we have on this earth. I gaze in the stars to form an opinion of why this light in my life is burning so bright, burning like the sun. The sun is simply a star, but the son is anything but simple. The stardust thus express deeply the desires of stating that this world is anything but ordinary. Even now on the mountaintop looking down into the valley. The amount of life stories amounting to a number uncountable by only one man. Although not fathomable He knows every quote expressing in great detail the plot and characters as if it was more than read. Yet it was published by the hand who guides me through this terrible sea. Seen as trails but those demons only come out with prayer and fasting. This lack of food feeds more than my soul, it feeds my being, my beliefs, my thinking. The belief that thinking is the result of my being. Yet only now known is the thought that my being is a result of believing. Belief is a tragedy though because you often learn things you don’t want to know.
Knowledge is said to be power, yet I express to myself and my closet friends that knowledge gives way to wisdom, which creates a humble man. Only then can we, who think so highly of ourselves, to see the kingdom. Placed low for those who can’t reach perfection to obtain it. Thus throw open the golden gates and enter in my good and faithful servant.