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By coujeaux Date: 2004 Oct 20 Comment on this Work [[2004.10.20.11.50.7554]] |
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Sweetly comes inkquilt womb of tonight, with yesterdays banished and tomorrow never to call, Together we scale to the utter zeniths of finest combined imaginations, solely 'pon wherewithal. Realizations populate this pretty silence, no words necessary, for here we're laid nucleus bare, Considerations and other decorations of lifeportions given to others least of which we're aware. Finite are the moments of perfection such as this we know, have known, will touch; savor bliss, Be thankful for breaths unpopulated with ferocious pierce of separation, ask no more than this. Know I of no safer harbour than now, even awash in torrentia of the petty miseries of any day, For it serves weary psyches to scrawl amnesiac tributes to the failures we orchestrate our way. Come aurora nueva, even the sun crawls from shadowprisons to conquer once again; I concur, And as I bask in the reminderlight that illuminates me under salvationskies only then do I defer. A hopeful figure now, one wish from a man spectrumed by the prism of renewed desire; behold, The very essence of the world around you cries continuation, so shall you follow suit and unfold. This feast, these delights we often consume ungraciously, they form bounty of promise to renew, Others give to the masses ideas or legacies or destructive fallacies; I can only give of me to you. The written is my lineage, the cry of one flickersoul mortal grasping at opportunities to love again, Movements past the onetime declaration of desperation that framed all I thought I had ever been. I, for one, now the celebrant unaccustomed, these are fallower lands in which I stride, garden sow, Let us taste once of the lotus, no more of the bitter harvest of that once withered; arise anew, grow. 10/20/2004 |