Decision and deciding, to decide to decide.

What is there to love but what is grotesque, wrong, that which does not belong in any complete work.  The candle that burns in the darkness as warm as the darkness that envelops and so terrorizing as the light, we worship it.  But I cannot, I can do naught else but revile that single beauty in the darkness as petty in this world to waste the energy and suddenly remind me that I am part of that abyss, freezing and drowning in it.  I resent the light and blame it for the darkness for without it, there would simply just exist being, but now there is conflict, competition, to know thyself and resent the past and be unsure of the future.  This is the cost of knowledge, of change, that simplicity is raped of innocence and ignorance wrought of it's reasoning.  There is new, change, and it nullifies and makes shame of all who merely said before of what is truth.  But the only way to avoid the shame is to worship a god of uncertainty or that devil of divine perspective that stalks human decency and desire to mock the sane and make all man a cynic with love a greater truth and resenting the love of anything.  With one hand I lift to save myself and the other I push myself down, and so it is man is made of sand and to it he must return, revile or regret or feast on it, it will be as it is, that nothing pure is natural and nothing certain is in any way true.  When we love it is in instantaneous pressure, and then it is the light in a pitch darkness, so that you know that you have always been enveloped in it, but to then hope that there is more.  Change is that factor that makes hunger, that makes desire and will and hope that would otherwise lead to the self-starvation of all manner of beast arrogantly self-proclaimed or surviving in idiocy. And so we wake in the night and thirst for change, for the night to become day and the next face to become another so that we can hunger from moment to moment and become drunk on our own dissatisfaction and hope in the same hands that feed.  Hearts are bottomless, as decided at creation or at least in pre-destination, when I am done wanting, done wanting for light, life, love, than I shall finally be done wanting to be, but it comes with every breeze, the change, and the wonder after what else could be.