June 28, 2008

These embers lick my lips with such guilty pleasures, guilelessly guiding such a heart into a stupor of eternal plight. I who have seen so little, knows so much! i reach a state of euphoric bliss, eradicating all sorrow in such a serious gaze. I, who fails to feel and see so many wonders, knows exactly what it is that is set before me. God? The Devil himself? These figures are treacherous in their own ways–They mean not a thing to a mind who has reached a pinnacle of understanding in the praxis of modern modesty.

I rest in beds fit for only kings. I seek the breath of only angels. I eat only the most precious of food–All forbidden of the fruits. I wake in holy lights set down for only those who wait, and seek the caress of minds awakened.

Fury blinds and patience reveals the most reveling of pleas. I find peace not in jewels or any crucifix, but in the late rise of Luna from her place of slumber. I find satisfaction in only the most sensuous serenities, secreting secrets from lips to resounding minds through ears that peel with the wake of a sea.

I watch not sunsets, but the darkness swallowing the sky, my body a silhouette on the fall of a natural day. I see clouds wisping, covering into the greatest of storms. I witness birth, as i feel life slipping away with each passing wake. I leer from only what remains to this moment–Gazing, a crashing celestial body from sky to mirroring sea. I feel as if a child would who is brought love and gratification from mother each day.

I see not what certain fuss is about, but instead trust in what each moment has brought to intersect my path. Sometimes, parallel lines viewed from the side are one.

I taste only what i put into mouth these days; nothing more and never less. Sensation cannot be stolen, only the tools to maintain or create certain blockades of mind.

I, who has known too much without seeing enough, can tell the difference between life and death. This fragile scale is quite easy to tip..

I am wide awake in the triumph of height. I write each line in the bleak lack of light. I am much more than can be seen, and few have felt what the really means.

The night has erupted into illuminations, casting figures and colorful sensations never seen before, at least not in this reality. The shades and swirl of balance contort perception in all sorts of ways, manifesting a sense of such intense decay, when organisms eat away what has died so long ago, before this day–These days, our days.

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