Quell the angry voices.

Speak your mind, but speak not quickly. Speak not with ill intentions, or in a cacophonous rage.  Speak quietly, but not covertly.

Quell your angry voices as they swirl in a vortex that centres around your head. If you can hear them, so can we.

A lonely soul needs a fire in the midst of a cold winter, but a blaze should not consume the dainty flakes that fall upon their noses, nor should it scorch the starlit skies and the light pleasantries of night’s piece.

Quell thine angry voices.

In a street full of numbed souls and ambivalent beings, paying no mind to a dying world or a dying maiden holding an empty coffee cup, it takes a diamond dust before we learn to fear blood. Connected, yet disconnected, we live in a dimension perpendicular to our bodies and find ourselves lost and unable to return. We’re lured by burning desires of need and purpose, and become imprisoned when we look up

and find a disappearing world.

Marveled by the ability to live in multiple dimensions at once, we exploit the need to live by living continuously in a realm – a cesspool – of adultery, lust, wrath and, above, unconditional self-pleasure. Once we hit a void cell – a digital black hole – our bodies remain, our minds lost.

Some die. Some remain disconnected and vegetate in Nature’s deadly embrace. And others watch, bedazzled and horrified by what we’ve done to ourselves,

and above all,

they quell their angry voices.