Saying is Believing

With the soul of a poet and the sage of a squire; I feel the words come floating, unwanting through the mire.
Knowing without seeing, and feeling without touch; the hollowness itself is full, though empty is my clutch.
Drawn towards me sparingly, like moths upon a flame; I need not those which it attracts, the fire is what I'll claim.
And once it gained I'll strive anew, complete my every task; having seen I'll draw the truth from my once empty flask.
Drunk upon my newfound wisdom, sought and then engaged; the constraints of these eyes now gone, a shattered rusty cage.
So naive, but now I know, the purpose of these lines; not meant to sit upon the pages, but live inside the minds.

religiosity

frustration is the key to my propulsion. a glass shield and a paper sword are the array that protect this pilgrim. with these i carry on toward the emblem of my faith. crafty as they are, my eyes can see the lack of luster in my many foes. i have stripped them of their fervor and zeal and now bear it upon myself.hard fought, with tooth and nail, knife and stone till ample casualties amounted. it seems that the battle was mine all along, i needed only take the chance, and sacrifice. the key was to indulge outward and bestow the feelings i desperately sought to instill in myself. TEN FOLD WAS THE RETURN. to this effect i have succeeded, gradually gaining, and inching toward the unattainable.