Subjective ObjectiveRiding on the precipice of a collapsing wave-function. In between initial frames of reference, relative to the world at stand still. Becoming all possible states until no more are left to assume. Invincible, irreplicable, pushing off the earth as the earth pushes back. Neither either but both. Micro macro, negative positive, repel attract. Riding on the precipice of a collapsing wave-function.Subjective Objective by Chapel-Horde
My Trip To The GroundI've been pushed from behind,My Trip To The Ground by Chapel-Horde
I don't know by who.
When I look I hope to find,
It was me and not you.
Because when push turns to shove,
I'll shove harder than you do.
When you pull hatred out of love,
Not much else is true.
Why am I being pushed anyways?
As I got close,
You should have warned me to stay away.
Now I'm upset as I contest why I feel this way:
You were my savior just yesterday.
As I trip on my feet,
I don't know what to think.
Where's your helping hand?
In black sand I've begun to sink.
You have a mighty smile,
Will you be here for awhile?
Gotta say I think not,
You look like you're lost.
Here And NowHere And NowHere And Now by Chapel-Horde
Here we are, in the here and now,
nowhere else we'd rather be.
Of all of time and space,
this is when I want to be.
We fly, the universe and I,
together in this place.
We'll lose each other soon enough,
though we're in no grand haste.
Death is the final moment, the clarifying breath,
every moment is that moment, only death has yet to join us.
Breath in the air, death will soon be here,
and now is all we have, for all we really care.
The World Without WordsThere is a world in which no one can say but one word. Any word. Their word. After that, they die. There is no warfare, no poverty, no suffering. Men are unable to explain away the cruelty of their actions, and so man toils under the weight of his actions. No lies spread by way of eager lips.The World Without Words by Chapel-Horde
In this world, there is a man and a woman sitting together in a bar, having a comfortable silence between them.
He leans against the bar, an eyebrow quirked at her. She inspects him with pursed lips, taking him in without interruption. He is a tall man and a big guy. His hair is thick and invasive, and dyed green. She takes more time than he'd like her to, and so he gives her a clown face. She's beautiful. She chortles at him, and he lets his chest down and breath out; she's beautiful and he made her laugh. A wonderful start by most of society.
She tosses her long, luxurious, lengthy hair back over her shoulder and adjusts herself to face him. He straightens up and brushes a hand through his hair,