Emorantag

Crimson liquid devours all,
seeping through the clay.
Expelled from the gash of a loathed man’s body .
Cries of despair illuminate the air.
The blood licks the blades, forever there they are laid.
His body of sleek wood, his head of an iron point,
expelled from his love, heaving through the air,
he searches as a ghost for an inhabitant.
Upon finding a worthy component
he lays upon the body, slowly devouring all
life within the mortal’s being.
Their webs previously prepared,
mortals lives conceived by most unlikely women.
By mistresses, three all to take the past,
the present and the future and one, all that may be.
Gemtyn to compose the present, Alvier the past,
and Olpenice the future.
Leuron to create all that may become.
Spinning webs, they guide mortals lives.
Never tempted by the guidance of another.
Creating destinies for the mortals of the world, and two
gods whose ethics mortals bide by.
The god Khyninave to rule o’er the righteous.
Another whose wickedness overshadows
the minds of mortals.
Feeding upon the bodies of men as a plague,
he enters their minds, and seeps into
their nations corrupting all.
Zhirchatove resides in the hearts of all vulnerable men.
Devouring the righteous he drags them down
with him to suffer perpetually.
Between Olpenice’s fingers wrought an unsullied web.
“Fresh blood strewn into being on the eve of Luprial*
Mothers tears to be shed, the culmination of breath.*
The ghost of her corpse shall be submitted.
The king born, son of Meiquer and descendant of
Medagalia.
Emorantag’s kingdom shall extend past Medagalia.
He shall rise and rule over all nations.
Emorantag in two beings, neither dying nor eternal.
Of such a pure fate and a sheer web
all that is in store is the overpowering of another.
The black web shall take the place of an inept fate.
Nevermore shall it only be possible.
Neither of the gods shall rule over his will.
His heart will be consumed, his hatred shall overpower.
Lover’s hearts shall be broken,
mother’s garments strewn with falling tears.
Yet all will not be lost .
His lover, the beauty of nature,
the sole descendant of Vertenia,
and the daughter of an ill father.
Melliel’s inheritance based upon a most desolate death.
Her father, whose dear life passed with each falling
breath.
In the night he had perished, crowning a daughter
with a place for a king.
Another watches her, a queen he by now has.
Her age has grown with time and his realm failing.
The kingdom of Mondeon ruled by Grisom descending.
His queen, Karmala, loathed and unable to conceive.
Four women presiding over all earthly actions.
They inhabit a world their own, a vast dimension.
Delicate structures of threads, woven together,
lives and lovers connected.
All to perish with the desires of the rogue.
Twisting and turning as serpents the webs
flowed amongst Olpenice’s fingers.
All that lay in store are the forlorn destinies
of adversaries and kin.
“Grisom’s covetousness of Melliel shall be broken
with the falling of his legions.
Zhirchatove seizes his chance, he subjugates
Grisom’s meager being.
Zhirchatove uses the man
as an instrument in finishing his will.
Bearing black wings he takes her away,
Nevermore shall her voice ascend as the seraphim’s .
Zhirchatove’s spirit resides within Grisom’s being.
His sword rose, lifted to the heart of Melliel
it swept her garments.
Emorantag watched, his entire being filled with
rage, his heart filled with wretchedness.
Forgetting all else he ran to her,
only to realize in the end she had already gone.
She knew it was done, there wasn’t a future.
She had grasped Grisom’s hand and drove the
sword into her breast.
The lover’s body spewed the rivers of crimson.
Standing forlorn ,never able to rule a nation,
Grisom’s conceitedness blanketed and overshadowed
his mind.
Melleils life diminished, the will of Grisom not foreseen
by Zhirchatove.
No longer had Zhirchatove inhabited Grisom’s being,
Looking up Zhirchatove saw the asinine deed of Grisom.
The only action Grisom took was of his own benefit.
Clasping the blade with the same feeble hand
that lived only to eradicate,
the blade rose and fell on the man whose kingdom had no heir.
The earth now strewn with the cowardly
blood of an inept king.
Fleeing her existence, the lover dead,
the saboteur diminished.”
Alvier’s fingers rewound an old web.
Replenishing it she sees all events past.
“Lying beneath glistening sheath it was drawn,
Luster of the silver shone beneath the sun.
Valliant hand of it’s possessor held it’s body.
It’s fate chosen, it’s will of another.
Though the war wages continuously,
The start of it is all only a vague memory,
a distant past.
Vertenia had no heir, except for the lowly daughter .
Ripe for the plucking Melleil queen to the kingdom.
Her king to be chosen, all seemed so clear.
Her lover to be her king, Emorantag to rule over his vast kingdom
along with hers.
Grisom’s plans were of another sort.
The falling kingdom which he ruled had only been
inherited by the peculiar death of his father to be.
The sole hope he had in the salvation
of his kingdom was to claim another.
Grisom’s war was to be waged by the murdering
of an enemies father, and the beneficial ridding
of old queen to make way for a new one with child.”
Between Leuron’s fingers spins a web of deceit and betrayal.
Nevermore shall Emorantag crave the betrothal
of Mellial, nor the son.
His desire for power shall lead him on a fresh path.
“Ill fated shall this one be, damned, hopeless and ruined.
Condemned never to know the joys of true love.
Glorious in action, and poised in every other manner,
his pride will be the justice he deserves.
Ruling over a nation only to have those whom he rules
perish in their own agony and narcissism.
His kingdom shall crumble beneath itself,
whose only redeemer shall be the begotten
son of their liberator.
Born of ones whose streaming blood
flows as pure as spring rivers.”
Gemtyn’s eyes watched the events unfurling within her webs.
Every moment that passed was woven into Alvier’s hands.
Grisom’s eyes had followed her long enough,
Too long has he endured a hoary spouse,
one who is unable to produce the lone request he had.
Too long has he waited for an heir.
Grisom’s infatuation has obscured his mind.
In the depths of the night he takes his action.
Pursuing his obsession,
fulfilling his passions,
and creating the heir Karmala never wrought.
Lingering in her bed chamber he anticipates her coming.
In the depths of the night his arms embrace her
from behind, his hands in hers.
Grisom’s body slowly moving with hers.
His lips caressing her neck, brushing her skin.
Melleil in such ecstasy sought to see his face,
the face of her beloved Emorantag.
The candle light illuminated the room, his true
character shone before her. Blackened circles lay
beneath his eyes. His body deformed.
His breath drown with a vinous stench.
Devouring all reason with every drop consumed.
That of a vile conceited face was drawn by the flame
of the candle upon her eyes.
Her lips expelled a scream of terror.
His hands left their pleasuring deed,
now clasped about her neck.
His will over hers, his force to be done.
Emorantag had heard Melleil’s screams through
the stone walls.
A glorious blade is drawn to the
throat of a sordid man.
His sword now pressed to Grisom’s neck.
Cowering in the dirt as a worm
Grisom twists and turns,
eyes searching for the justice behind his actions.
His ignoble hands still clasping Melliels
throat as the reins of a worn horse.
His tongue slithers behind his teeth,
poison seeps from his lips.
“It was mine to take, mine, my own.
Of mine kinship to beget.
Over Vertenia no longer shall
incompetent people rule.
An obliging arrangement of a love affair
to twine two influential kingdoms
has emitted nothing but a useless woman
with an unserviceable womb.”
Grisom’s nature has changed, fear left his mind.
He rose, pride dripping from every word.
A vile smile unfurled upon his ignoble face.
The repulsive excuses trailed from his jaws.
“ She is your lover, your dove ,your maiden.
Pray, may I inquire who had the
pleasure of dispatching your father from this world?
Too long had I waited, when the final submission of
my will had corroborated to me that the
splendid deed had already been accomplished.
It was your own dearest who engaged in the slaying
of your father by her very hands.
In the fantasies of the night without a watchful owl,
your lovely Melleil, the whore of Verteneia,
pierced Meiquers skin countless times.
Ecstasy bloomed in her very eyes,
and laughter escaped her luscious lips.
Do you not doubt her?
You remember that cold bitter night ,do you not?”
An old web reborn was cast into the heart of Emorantag.
Alvier allowed him to see the truth behind the
event that still pains him.
The light upon the kingdom had diminished,
The abodes of many occupied with the slumber of mortals.
The delights of the fantasy in ones minds were taunted.
Swaying over her mind, his hands became hers.
The once elegant nature became ravished
with the black claws of another.
Zhirchatove dwelled in Melleils mind, controlling
her every thought and action.
Seeking only one to lead into the damned circles of hell.
From the fabrics of her dress a blade escaped,
caressing her hands it took position.
The blade whose only fate shall ruin an heir.
Not a sound pierced the cold nights air.
Watching as if it were a play,
she persisted the slaying.
She could not stay her hand, nor rid herself of the
happiness behind her horror.
Awakening to the streams of spring sunlight seeping their
way through the curtains.
Grasping the darkness and drawing in the rays.
As a watchful god, the sun trickling through the room,
illuminating every corner of darkness.
The sun fell upon the bed, masked with blood.
In an endless sleep Meiquer laid,
his ivory skin painted with the same red
that once flowed warmly through his veins.
Now as cold as ice, the blood stained a beloved son’s cloths,
mourning for his father.
The screams of terror were drawn from Emorantag’s soul.
Through the pits of hell, unto the halls of heaven they are heard.
Tears upon his garments flow, his father gone,
and the murderer unknown to him.
Rage filled his entire being,
sadness consumes his frail heart.
Marble corridors are host to the forlorn thoughts
of a lost king.
Thoughts of blame stirred in his mind.
Possibilities were amassed,
one mans face shone through his mind as a beacon.
The foe’s previous actions had blamed a dearly beloved
and caused Emorantag to doubt.
It all seemed clear. Grisom had no heir,
his kingdom was crumbling beneath itself, and his only choice was
to expand his kingdom with a fertile womb.
Emorantag’s decision to make , his war to wage.
His lust for power had blinded him.
His eagerness to rule a vast new kingdom with his beloved
did not allow him to see the truth.
Her mask had fallen, and before his eyes he saw a
vile and repulsive woman.
For the first time she had disgusted every morsel of his being.
Olpenice’s webs had taken over,
enabling the mistresses to see
the consequences of the mortals actions
on Melleil who has realized Emorantag’s
love for her had ceased.
Utter chaos has shattered the world inside.
Despair has taken quarters within the swallowed self-pity.
All that has become of the once white dove
who loved a man vastly,
is the deadness of her beaten heart.
Squandering now with the eternally suffering,
wings broken, shattered heart.
All has been tossed into the raging war.
Gambling with lives,
passions and impulses consume,
wounding lovers’ fates that were once intertwined.
Leuron watched the morbid occurrences with disdain.
Within her mind she concocted an idea only Olpenice saw.
Within the night her deeds were done, the perfecting of a
flawed web.
Gemtyn’s eyes filled with the sad happenings
taking place.
Within her quivering hands spun four webs,
The lives of two loved betraying each other,
one a futile and ignorant sister.
The other a seemingly wretched women
whose deeds truly moral.
And the blackened heart of a fool.
Another whose very mind and heart
were wrought with confusion.
Olpenice’s actions proceeding valiantly.
Hidden within the shadows, Olpenice
Watched her creation destroyed.
Melliel’s life rewound, ruined.
Amidst Leuron’s fingers spun deceit, betrayal,
And the ruin of entire nations.
“Her heart shall still beat, her blood flowing
warmly through the veins lying beneath her
porcelain skin, never ceasing by another’s hand.
Wrong was it for her to die, wrong was
it for her to love only one.
Within her heart dwells another .
She fervently embraces him, her
infatuation for Grisom grows.
The child within her whom his spawn.”
Casting a new web in the place of Olpenice’s
Leuron’s actions were stayed.
Leuron’s entire being falls, her heart ceased.
Joining those suffering in the nadir of Hell,
she is to conform to Zhirchatove’s will.
Her frail figure meets the ground, her soul
descending.
Within the back of her corpse rested the
blade driven in by the hand of Olpenice,
She stood above Leuron watching the color
in Leoron’s skin fade.
“You ill conceived, futile being.
You didn’t understand what you were attempting”
Dragging the desolate body of an inept mistress
across the soil, Olpenice watches as the flames
lick the skin of Leuron.
They rest upon her hands and pale lips.
They devour her entire being, leaving only
three to rule over all.
Gemtyn’s webs continuing, Olpenice finding all
to be finished and Alvier‘s abundant with all passing times.
From the black abyss his ascension is seen.
An eclipse of black leathered wings outstretched
before Emorantags eyes.
Terror pulsated through his entire being.
Seeing Grisom as an imprudent imbecile unable
to accomplish such a noble deed,
Zhirchatove usurped his control.
Rising to earth to claim his throne.
His only task to slaughter Emorantag.
Each wave of his wings through the arid air
laid poison into every being.
Emorantag knew who and what Zhirchatove had
come to claim.
Grasping his sword he mustered every fragment
of valor within the depths of his heart.
Every body falling to that of a corpse lay ruined
with each passing of Zhirchatove.
Before Emorantag he stood, his hand slowly extending.
For with one touch the sad makings of
a king would succumb.
The thrust of Emorantag’s sword vibrated with
every strand of strength he possessed.
Upon contact his very being burned with the
malevolent nature of Zhirchatove.
Wounded, pride and body, Zhirchatove descended
to his fortress.
Never had a sword pierced his skin.
The valiant nature held by Emorantag at the moment
of all acclaimed loss had been the only power
able to wound such an exalted demon.
Webs unraveling, fates falling
The screams of innocents ringing
within ones ears.
All had failed the test. Only
one was left to create a more pure world.
Emorantag’s name transformed to that
of his eternal being.
The first man made from Emorantag’s very
hands and the woman wrought from
the ribs of Adam.
Again creation and all existence shall
thrive upon the earth.

What if you were blind and deaf?

The kite was two twined together pieces of smooth wood, like that of a crucifix, bound with fabric. I felt the fabric with the easy stitches, the way they spun and crossed over each other to form the most luxurious image that I had only the privilege to fancy in my mind. The thread played a haughty game of catch and release with itself that created the delicate pedals and the strong stem of the exquisitely conceived rose. I thought of the tedious ins and outs of the very life of the needle that was always united to the spool. I thought of fingers that spent day and night weaving it together, the sinewy fingers of my mentor and beloved friend, Gwendolyn. There was once a tail to the kite, but it is gone now as is Gwendolyn. It has been three years since her blood turned on her own body and she died of leukemia in her thirty second year of age. It has been three years since she taught me the dearest joy of what it is to fly.
I had never heard her voice, nor had I ever seen her, but I knew her nature. She held a kind and gentle disposition with a hint of patience. The utter fascination she held of the world later became mine as she wished to share the innovative ideas of our present era with me.
“Do you know what a kite is?”
The winds had shifted. They had changed from their previous state of howling mongrels that brought downfalls of heavy rain and murky clouds echoing upon their hind legs, to the blanket of warm air, with the ever present scent of newly blooming flowers that opened to taste the April showers. I had sat upon the bench wrought with wood and metal when Gwendolyn had again signed into my hand “ Do you know what a kite is?”. I signed to her that I had not the single idea of what it was. With that response the next thing I felt on my hand was not hers. Rather, it was something that had fabric and wood. I allowed my fingers to run across it as mice run through the woods searching every nook and cranny. The downy wood was tied together with a rugged sort of twine to form a shape similar to a cross. The fabric was strewn across it making a four sided shape. My scrutinizing hands searched the fabric for an answer that would tell me what this contraption was. I instead fell upon rows and fields of stitches, strung together in a certain pattern. Following the carefully grouped threads a flower emerged as the real flowers did in the spring. I recognized the shape of the pedals and the rough stem with thorns as sharp as knives. It was the same flower that Gwendolyn had first introduced me to. The threads formed a rose. From what I perceived to be the bottom of this contraption came two strings. One felt like a thin rope, as any other rope would feel in size and shape and was attached to a sort of spool that contained handles. On the other hand, the other felt like a silky ribbon, thicker and wider in size and taut at its end.
Gwendolyn’s hand had again reached mine, K-I-T-E. She had allowed me to explore every aspect of the material object that was in my hands. I knew, even then, that I had not a single idea of what this could do or what it would mean to me in the future.
“What does a kite do?”
That day Gwendolyn gave me the kite to take home. For hours I remember running my hands across it, feeling the rose on the kite and every detail that had been spun into the fabric. I could smell the dark maple wood and the freshness of the fabric that seemed to be cotton. The last thing that she had asked before I returned home was, “What does a kite do?”. I had no answer the moment she had asked me, nor an answer that night. I had fallen asleep with the question still fresh in my mind.
“What does a kite do, Lyla?”
The next day Gwendolyn and I had gone to the field again. She signed in to my hand, “Have you fingered out what a kite does?”.
I had signed to her that I did not know, but I knew what it must look like and how beautiful it really is. She took my hand and placed all my fingers on her mouth. I felt her smile as I did when I was a child. Just as she had done before when describing to me what it is to be happy. Lowering my hand she spelled a word, just the one word F-L-Y.
I remember the thoughts running through my mind at an insuperable speed. Linking the two thoughts together I had figured out that the kite and the word fly were somehow connected. Although, I still had the faintest idea of what ‘fly’ meant. Gwendolyn held my hand and tried to explain to me that what a kite does is fly. I knew what a kite was, but the fact that she had given me another meaning to it did not help me to understand. I felt the air all around me become a thick , heavy wool blanket that was unbearable. The sun was beating upon my neck and my impatience grew with every bead of sweat. Gwendolyn had seen that I was growing impatient and irritated with the fact of my inability to understand the concept. So she had proposed we take a stroll around the field. I remember the precious time that had passed before Gwendolyn delicately grasped my hand, signing two words, ‘Lyla’ and ‘walk’. She had given me a noun and a verb. Just as she did before and preceded to do when she had again signed the two words ‘kite’ and fly’ into my hand. At that moment I knew that fly was and action that the kite could do. I had become one step closer to figuring out what it had really meant and was now ecstatic with the pea sized progress I had achieved.
Seizing the opportune time, with my immeasurable curiosity and desire to understand the concept, Gwendolyn took the kite and my hand. She lead me up the what I could have sworn to have been Mount Everest. As we climbed my legs turned to lead, my breath became harsher and the air around me was not still as it was before. Upon reaching the top the gushes of wind pulled and tugged on our very beings. It was a rouge trying to push us off his territory. Our fabrics became twisted and mangled against our skin. Our once neat hair was tossed and turned as the perilous sea storms’ waves. Gwendolyn had again began signing in to my hand. She had asked if I felt the wind and that even though the wind seemed intolerable it would help me understand flying.
In my hands she placed the kite. She signed to me I that was on the edge of the hill and to count five seconds after the tug before I ran down the clear path set before me. I felt a tug in the other end of the kites rope and a surge of fear ran through my entire body. Three seconds had gone by, I was terrified. Four seconds I was hopeless and five seconds and my knees buckled as my body met the tall grass. I remember waking up to the awful scent of the smelling salts. I had felt the covers around me, turned and smelled the pillow assuring myself I was home. Gwendolyn had taken me home and was beside herself. I remember it oh so well, her hand quivering in mine. I had told her that I had been petrified. I didn’t know what was going to happen between the time I began running to the time I had hit the bottom of the hill. With that Gwendolyn had apologized and signed she would try to explain flying in another way in a few days. She explained that the physician said it was best if I rested for a few days.
I had not wanted to wait any longer. Thoughts had paced through my mind for two days and I could do nothing about them. I remember the utter silence around me on the third day. The thoughts had stopped and I was alone. I didn’t want to be a tree stump, I never wanted to not understand. There was only one thought that had entered my mind and had cleared the path for a swarm of countless others. ‘I would make the kite fly’ was the one thought that had entered my mind that day and the rest that followed were plans of how to make it fly. I remember thinking, ‘If I could make the kite fly I would understand what fly meant and everything would fall together like puzzle pieces’.
On the forth day Gwendolyn had returned and she was tired and frail. The day felt warm and crisp. The fresh grass swayed with the wind, but her hands remained cold and chalky. Before she began her lesson that day I remember asking her to take me to the top of the hill. She had agreed and the second time going on the hill my legs were like feathers, my breath was strong and the rouge of the wind held not a single strand of power over me. I had given the kite to Gwendolyn and took the spool end. She had known what I was attempting to do and allowed me to proceed. With the tug of the string I didn’t wait five seconds, I ran as the racers did. I passed through the wind as a ship through water. My legs ran faster and faster. I felt the ground passing under my feet at an immense speed. I didn’t know what to expect and the only thing that I had was hope. The hope that I would understand what flying was. I had run, there were no barriers, nothing to stop me and something tugged on the kite and I felt the kite no longer scratching upon the ground with its cat claws, but free. The kite was pulling up, not dragging down as it had before. It had been in the air, nothing was holding it down to the ground to make it walk, crawl, or run. It was flying. Joy had filled every morsel of my being. The kite was flying and I had made it do that. The next thing I knew, all I felt was a sharp tug on the rope that brought me to the ground followed by the insipid taste of dirt in my mouth. I didn’t know what had happened, and what I felt afterwards was something that had crashed down on my legs and had caused pain.
I had stood up, brushed myself off and realized the cause of the pain was the kite. It had given way to gravity and fell on me. Gwendolyn had gently grasped me, assuring me she was there. I had signed to her with excitement and utter happiness still in me that I made the kite fly. While we were walking up the hill again I had asked her “what made the kite stop, why did it fall?’.
In my hand Gwendolyn placed the spool, and then signed for me to drop it. I understood what gravity was. I understood why the spool fell, but what I didn’t understand was why had something that could fly and stay in the air fallen.
When we had reached the bottom of the hill Gwendolyn had given me an analogy. She had signed, or rather asked, “If you walk, does that not mean you are unable to fall anymore?” into my hand.
I hesitated and signed no of course not, one will always be prone to make mistakes, or to fall.
“ So does that not mean then that if something is able to fly, does it not have the same faults? Is it not still able to fall?”
“ It would be able to fall.”
Gwendolyn had taken me home that day and said she would return two days later with a surprise that I was sure to like.
The days were growing warmer and the winds were beginning to stay still. Two days had passed moving at the speed of molasses. Gwendolyn had finally returned, her movements slower and she was more frail. The holding of a hot coal would have amounted to touching her hand.
“ I promised you a surprise.”
I was exceedingly ecstatic, I didn’t know what was going to happen. All I knew was that when Gwendolyn said that she had a surprise she usually proposed an idea or something new to ponder.
“ Do you know what bird is?”
I didn’t know what a bird was and I, myself, was puzzled. I remember sitting in the sun trying to think.
“ You know what an animal is. A bird is an animal.” Gwendolyn had said nothing afterwards. She held her motionless hand in mine indicating a pause. Until she finally signed again, “ They can fly too.”
My mind was pacing, thoughts spurred in every direction imaginable. I knew that a kite could fly through the air. I had run a kite across plenty of fields knowing that it was just a kite and I had made it fly in the sky. The way I made it weave in and out of the clouds as the stitches upon the kite weaved through the fabric. To fly was to defy gravity, but with help. For the first time Gwendolyn had proposed an idea to me that scared me and at the same time I was intrigued. A living thing can fly, but how. I knew that we were living, plants were living and neither could fly. She had said that birds could fly.
Gwendolyn had signed to me and told me to hold out my hand perpendicular to the ground and not move. On my hand things were poking me like the thorns on a rose, but these were moving. I felt two sets of what I had nothing better to call them at that time than, ‘live thorns’. The fingers of my other hand moved up the live thorns. They were attached to a warm little thing that moved. It was alive, it wasn’t like the kite. I followed the coat of the petite animal that stood on my hand. The coat was drawn out into pieces all arranged together to form one larger version of the silk. The head of the animal was small and the closer I got to the front of the face I felt not a nose like on a dog or a human, but something entirely different. The animal had a protruded hard figure on its face that was not just one piece, but parted into two. The protrusion, of what I later found out to be its beak opened and closed revealing a mouth. This animal was a small bird.
Taking my hand, Gwendolyn rested her hand on top of mine forming one and we carefully pulled something from the bird. It was an extension of the bird that was able to hide. The extension held the same coat as the rest of the body and formed an arrow with a definite pointed end. Putting the extension down Gwendolyn had signed into my hand “This is what helps the bird fly. It is what makes it defy gravity. Just like your kite does with the aid of you, but a bird has no strings, it is free.”
To fly was to defy gravity, to be free in the air. There were no limitations, no barriers that need to be broken. I was happy, more than happy. The year was 1932 and I was twenty- three when Gwendolyn showed me what it is to fly. Shortly after Gwendolyn had passed and my next mentor showed to me the astonishing world of aviators.

Against Homosexuality

Homosexuality is against man’s nature. It is a rebellion against nature and yet
thousands upon thousand of men and women live such a vile and corrupt lifestyle. Within our liberal day and age many believe that homosexuality should be tolerated event to the point of being widely accepted, encouraged, and protected by new laws. Not only do liberal secularists believe this notion but also the liberal and cafeteria Catholics. Withinmy argument against homosexuality I will show that it is wrong and that it should not be tolerated, especially by those within the Church. I will begin by stating thathomosexuality goes against man’s nature. I will then state that something which goes against man’s nature will have many consequences such as AIDS. I will finally refute thearguments that gay “marriage” should be allowed just as a marriage between a man and awoman is allowed and the argument stating those that cannot help being homosexual. Throughout all of these arguments I will site various authoritative figures pertaining to each argument. In the end one will be able to see that homosexuality is at all times and in every which way wrong.
As I introduced this argument I made a very firm statement which I will now
address. I began by saying that homosexuality is against man’s nature and that it is a rebellion against nature. “ God created man and woman together and willed them for the other.” (CCC 371). Man is not made to have sexual attractions towards someone of thesame sex; rather, man is suppose to have attractions towards the opposite sex. “ Man andwoman were made ‘for each other’- not that God left them half made and incomplete: he created them to be a communion of persons (“bone of my bones…”) and complementaryas masculine and feminine.” (CCC 372).That is to say that by the very nature of a man and a woman they are created to be together. They are not created to be homosexuals.“Tradition has always declared that ‘homosexual acts are intrinsically disordered’ . Theyare contrary to the natural law” (CCC 2357).There is an argument that is posed againstman’s nature saying that “some cannot help being homosexual, it is the way they are and were born”. “It [homosexuality] has taken a great variety of forms through the centuriesand in different cultures. Its physiological genesis remains largely unexplained.”(CCC2357). Homosexuality, many say, is a deep seated root and people are born with thesepre-existing inclinations toward the same sex. “Homosexual persons are called tochastity. By the virtues of self-mastery that teach them inner freedom, at times by thesupport of disinterested friendship, by prayer and sacramental grace, they can and should approach Christian perfection.” (CCC 2359). If one has a predisposition towards homosexuality and is said to be Christians he must live a chased life and “These persons are called to fulfill God’s will in their lives and, if they are Christians, to unite to the sacrifice if the Lord’s cross the difficulties they may encounter from their condition.”. Just because one might have a predisposition towards something does not mean that theyshould act upon it or that it is an acceptable lifestyle. Homosexuality is still against nature
even if one believes they were born that way.
Something that is in accordance with nature would not bring about diseases
which kill the body. Just as homosexuality, which is contrary to nature, brings about
diseases that are both mental and physical. These diseases which stem from an abuse of ones sexual nature, such as homosexuality, often bring about AIDS, depression and all often leading to suicide. One especially prominent disease that stems from abuse on thenature of sex is AIDS. AIDS is notably seen in homosexual circumstances, especially with homosexual men. While the men move from partner to partner they are far more likely to spread the disease. “In California, at least 67% of HIV/AIDS cases are directly linked to male homosexual behavior...”( ) and “Nearly half of all people living with HIV in the U.S. in 2006 were [MSM].”(CDC HIV/AIDS Facts,CDC.gov/hiv). As the facts draw on it evident to see that promiscuous homosexualbehavior spreads the epidemic of AIDS. Within “California, where a faction wants tolegalize homosexual relationships as ‘marriage’, has experienced 69,000 deaths due tohomosexual men as well as the homosexual women move from partner to partner overshort periods of time, enabling the rapid transmitting of AIDS.
Many within our societybelieve that marriage is a right and nothing more. They
believe that marriage is another “hurdle” that you pass in life and it can be tried over and over again until they are finally satisfied. Marriage within the Catholic Church is a union,it is a sacrament within the Church. The domestic partnership of the homosexuals, often referred to as “gay marriage” is nothing like that of an actual marriage. Man is not to be attracted to the same sex, rather to the opposite. “Sexuality is ordered to the conjugal love of man and woman” (CCC 2360).Marriage is the union between a man and a woman
allowing procreation and therefore the teaching of their children. Marriage is not just twopeople who decide to live together, fornicate and then decide to leave whenever theywant. Especially not when they are of the same sex. “Everyone, man and woman, shouldacknowledge and accept his sexual identity. Physical, moral, and spiritual difference andcomplementarity are oriented towards the goods of marriage and the flourishing offamily life. The harmony of the couple and of society dependsin part on the way in whichthe complementarity, needs, and mutual support between the sexes are to be livedout.”(CCC 2333). That is to say a man and a woman are to accept that yes they are different, but there is a reason for that. Men and women are different and in marriage theycomplement each other. In complementing each other they bring forth life and stabilityrather than the gay “marriage” that is obviously unable to procreate. The gay “marriage”is nothing like an actual marriage and it completely closes the gap to new life.
Homosexuality in every which way wrong and is an intrinsic disorder among
many of the ‘liberated’ people. No one benefits from any of this erroneous behavior, rather the unnatural behavior of homosexuality has caused diseases, hardships and has sadly lead many to despondently follow in the footsteps of other homosexuals. “Those shameful acts against nature, such as were committed in Sodom, ought everywhere and always to be detested and punished. If all nations were to do such things, they would be held guilty of the same crime by the law of God, which has not made men so that they should use one another in this way” (Confessions 3:8:15 [A.D. 400]). Homosexuality is not beneficial nor charitable to any one, it is an act of hatred among others and most especially against one’s own human nature.