Makes little difference to me, the lifting wind that brushes the sun darken oak leaves up. The sylvan world moves from dark to light in shifting shades of green-
Means little to me.
I care not for the song of the lark or the longing flight of the cardinal for his mate. The scarlet dark against the shifting green all directed by who knows what; so why care for the cause of a hidden effect?
I could care less.
And I do not mind the boom of guns nor the crack of the whip that separates me from those I should love. What does their life matter as I have been taught that only my life should revolve my world?
What matters the words written that saves souls?
I think little of peace or what contentment is and soon all theses distractions I mention will falter due to lack of attention.
How could the world continue to spin without my permission?. Oh, and by the way, I most certainly don’t believe in evil.