180 – The Modern Saint has Fruitless Soil – 507 words

When my son takes a nap during the day, it’s great because I get a break from parenting.  However, this also means his bedtime gets pushed further into the night.  How do you decide which is the better outcome?  You cannot resent your children without hate.  Either way it draws blood, so does the choice matter?  The best thing to do is accept the outcome as a given.  If you want to draw blood grab the blade.  If you want to stab someone, grab the blade.  A consequence repeats with the certainty of pain.  Question is this…who made it?  Is it a weapon or a symbol?  What does it symbolize?  Predictability.  If consequences are predictable, why bet against causality?  Our spirit must dance (with fire) to stay warm.  Fire licks the sky like the blade licks our blood.  How do you sheath a double-edged blade (with no handle)?  Let it lye.  Let it grow cold.  Let it shiver. 
 
The warmth of your blood is the catalyst to kill.  Do you have the courage to kill?  Grab the blade.  Give the spirit (that loves to be wrong) a reason to freeze.  Let it sleep I say.  Let it grow cold.  Make it shiver.  That’s your power.  You make a double-edged blade (with no handle) easy to ignore.  Why?  We resent (plain and) pain.  To resent abstinence.  That is where the virtues of virginity shine.  Virginity is not about sex, it’s about the confirmation from God “to be a hoe for your husband.”  As a man, the greatest gift a woman can give, is gift HER virginity.  Technically…just once.  Society is transparent to the people who live with their heads in the sand.  That’s the naivety of ignorance.  Liberals are perpetual children craving idols.  Why? Sex isn’t everything.  Once is enough.  Twice is a slippery slope.  Three times a husband’s hoe.  Truth is creepy, to a liberal.
 
If you love abortion…be celibate.  Isn’t that the sure-fire way to exercise abortion.  Not killing the unborn piece of yourself that threatens your options but cultivate fruitless soil.  That’s what I call liberation.  Would you cut off your boob if that gesture could destroy the patriarchy?  You are a special kind of mother, the mother of the unborn.  Sounds like a saint to me.  The modern saint hasn’t the conscience to guide humanity (with fruitless soil).  Saints are not infallible.  Saints are heroes.  Are you a saint?  Why do you need man (to determine) what the holy spirit offers in spades.  Saints are fallible heroes, and they are shining examples of man’s potential to fight a blasphemous orgy of hyper-sexual women.  Am I a bigot?  I am what I say I am: a sardonic poet.  If that’s a bigot in your eyes, know that I sleep like a baby.  I’m a father so I know a thing or two about loving my child.  Be the saviour you deserved by accepting Jesus into your life.  I’m not an evangelist.  I don’t care what you do, I’m just exercising my conscience before I die.