Saints And Sinners

Creativity and sensibility can never share a mutual penchant for each other; At least not for me, so do pardon my baloney. You see, while sauntering amidst the shadows of varying tones of grey and slumbering black, when an affluence of serenity drenched in nonchalant blues, pours the sangria of whims, to rouse a bohemian's dreams, the thin line between sense and non-sense drowns in a blur. So are the impressions of a ludicrous reality on the ostentatious cadenza of life, where aspirations and compulsions, wrongs and rights, loves and aversions as well as amiable fantasies and abhorred obligations, all mingle into an atrocious pandemonium that echoes the intensified hassles between the audacious mind and the emollient heart.
Somewhere in our sedentary pursuits of materialistic luxuries, a zephyr of emotions skim across our soul, in vain attempts of embellishing the remnants of humanity in modern 'men'. But a better share of people deny the blissful innocence in its demeanor and sabotage it. The fragments of my fifteen year long acquaintance with life, that have shattered themselves and now take refuge in my heart, proclaim that life can be Beautiful (with capital 'B') if you see it as it should be seen, love it as it wants it to be loved and define it as it wishes to be defined – as a farrago of blinding emotions caresses by the music of candor and genuineness. My reader, are you one of those unfortunately ignorant beings who seeks the beauty of life in a few prodigious chateaus, exuberant wheels and crispy notes and pronounce your ignorance to the world with a risible profusion of pride? Permit me to act on my own accord and I'll label these delirious entities as translucent evidences of the bafflingly despicable sagacity of mankind. Your mistaken if you've assumed the sagacity to be regarding the '$' loves for I've been decrying the choice of loving your mind more than the heart, all along! The fault can't be entirely yours, for I'm not a success at delineating!
You can't toss a drachma and be a Greek, but you can abandon the peccadillo of adulating the narcissistic instincts of your mind. If I just said 'peccadillo', let me rephrase it as 'blunder', for the mind is the only abyss of ghastly egoism. Every mind is a misanthrope's chalet and every heart, an altruist's paradise – unsurprising you're in oblivion of either the former or the latter. Very dolorous? Perhaps... but the consequences of the oblivion are way beyond the presumed dolorousness. When you smother the melting yellows and roguish smiles of life, allow your genuine alacrity to die in an elision and seek solace in fortunes by slighting your heart and cherishing the odious fancies of the mind, you are merely dragging your whole being to the Armageddon.
The saints can be sinners and the sinners, the saints. Would you choose the lesser of the two evils that dwell in you, that is to say, the random saint over the incurable sinner or chide my extravagant sanity, and decoratively address your asininity as 'indifference'?