Spirited Diction

[2:30-3:41 a.m.  The monologue.]

Words spewed forth upon hardwood reflecting orbed heat lamps.  They were shrewd and cruel yet filled with passion.  Racial injustice swam through ages of malice, to somehow audit the accompanied and spur the speaker with intolerable fury.

          Helpless I sat; patiently gazing towards my feet in vain attempts of avoiding his bludgeoning stare. Each word forcibly implanted itself into my mother’s heart.  The seemingly endless syllables slurred through the morning staleness in successive efforts towards reading my character.  Unbeknownst to me, the reading had occurred prior to my invitational presence.

          The faded crescent moon, though distal, observed a deep blue mini-van braving the rugged side streets on direct route to a beloved friends abode.  Music trumpeted popular songs from every era, providing rhythmic background for my trip.  The normal Kelly Clarkson tracks were replaced by my mother’s "Dream Girl Soundtrack".  Bopping along the darkened path, my friends greeted me with exaltation and a round of Marco’s Pizza upon my arrival (I highly advise against the liquidated lipid misrepresenting the label of “Garlic Sauce,” it’s pretty slimy and for some reason caused excessive flatulence in one member of our triad).  The slumber party was hyper with excitement and spent a great deal of the evening researching the release of the upcoming undead shooter “Left 4 Dead.”  Given our current zombie state, the group established base among the form-fitting furniture and nestled in preparing to drift away before the cultured monstrosity of Godzilla (VHS for the win) wreaked havoc inside the television.

          The journey back to my current dwelling proved short-lived and procured an awkward scene whilst entering the structure.  Frozen in the doorway, I could see myself stalled in this chair, surrounding the island, statuesque while bearing a burden unable to be perceived. As my mind maundered, the conversation began to aberrate.  One single sentence shot a merciless bullet sharply through my heart, snipping any chords of trust that may have been strung.  Beyond intellect and moral statutes, my journal had been infiltrated once again, though it had been concealed. The greedily curious fingers that flipped through each page, now, condescendingly retorted impressions of slander and distaste at my unsuspecting sentry.  No defense can rectify against such intrusive treachery.  The penned emotion is of the purest nature and constrained,  never to express more than a depiction of any scene.  Colorful words, gossip, and slander are forbidden within my sheeted sanctum.  My sacred thoughts as seed, though sewn and sealed from vile entanglement of weed, had been reaped without the gardeners will.

          Now they are but thorns in my side.

          Causing me to question, once more…

          Is nothing sacred?

As in some tragic fable, I feel that this tale should carry some sort of moral.

This may serve a valuable lesson.  With my tendency towards misplacing belongings, I should keep a weary eye on that which is significant to me.  

But what if I had misplaced my bible? 

I suppose that none would question it's composition given that it reflects the inspired word of God.  Yet if taken out of context, thoughts fundamental to comprehension may possibly become misconstrued. Sermons have been preached magnifying a particular chapter of the book (ex. John Chapter 2) or even a single sentence. The speech will be rendered beautifully but will disillusion the audience to the words found within the following Chapters or ignore the idea continuously following the period.  Extrapolating ideas is marvelous but please attempt to take the entirety of the thought, in context; one may find the complete story in this manner.  Hence, eavesdropping is generally misleading.

Admittedly, I have yet to read through the entire text of the Bible (which may cause concern given that I seek a Youth Ministry lifestyle), but would encourage any to share in this endeavor with me.  Hopefully it will yield a larger perspective of the grand scheme of things, and maybe offer clarity along the way.  

Be mindful the words that you speak and especially those which remain unspoken for both bear your spirit, may they be pure in all regards.

My friend, to whom, this will make sense:

1 Peter 4:10

          “As each one has received a special gift, employ it in serving one another as good stewards of the manifold graced of God.”

I pray that these words will bring comfort to your unrest.

Just pray.

Then Serve.

 

Sleep well my friends for night is fleeting (Currently 6:31 a.m.)

~Deus fortuno