Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Proximity
Latent are the stars in the blink of an eye- sleeping, ever sleeping, in a vessel of dust and dust alone as the world will only know. Ripples form into once and forever, silent remnants of the secrets of truth. The universe weeps for that which it shall never fathom, O weaver of the rain, yet worshiped for the calm... it is an enigma in itself and no man can stand up and fathom it, no matter how lofty his words or perceptive his mind, for in the end, he is only mere man and can only do what mere men do... and the universe is beyond all of them.
Dynasty of Vagabonds
Lightning is organic. Here the rolling ashen skies are vast, yet ephemeral, I know; fading into darker storms fringed on the horizon...always with the never-ceasing anticipation of dawn still lurking somewhere in the soul.
Tomorrow screams in mystery while restless yesterdays lie buried swiftly in the sand- the same soil in which the roots of antipathy are sown. I know no destination, only provocative sojourns- brief mainstays to witness the fleeting ballads of my brothers. I grasp upon their lifesongs as precious jewels in this faltering vessel, though mournfully inept.
Viatic thoughts rage, maraud, and devour. Merciless in nature... I find I can claim nothing of the world. [Yet thinking everything of it] Flocks of crows come to follow now and then at my back.
So many voices; Senses fade to the sounds of my less-inquired melodies. Are there no ears to hear them by? From my lips fall hymns to metamorphosis' pulse. Can I bear what has become? What once was? What will be? Can eluvium once buried come to surface once again?
...Remaining just a seed, deprivation in a nutshell, simply awaiting for that vital sign; Wondering if there is a space in the fabric of time with my dimensions to fit.
I'm unraveled in the rain because the sky so reflects my soul.
And in this cryptic forest, the raw shadows speak.
"Lo, the longings you run away from! I am the embodiment of your stigma; My lips detest the wretched unseeing. You seek and hide from futile promise, yet avert from human whim- the very whims that burn you."
From their dark existence- one can only notice- such blazing eyes, flickering.
"You are a ghost in a great sea, a sea composed of your profound deceit, a sea conjured from your very core: evanescent in nature. Your isolation alone is thy paradise and thy end."
Who says the night is baneful? because it is the time in which our facades are undone, letting our hearts beat in the open? Despite the shadows' dismal resonance, I find a smile in my persistent steps:
The road is an enigma...
...and it is mine.
Tomorrow screams in mystery while restless yesterdays lie buried swiftly in the sand- the same soil in which the roots of antipathy are sown. I know no destination, only provocative sojourns- brief mainstays to witness the fleeting ballads of my brothers. I grasp upon their lifesongs as precious jewels in this faltering vessel, though mournfully inept.
Viatic thoughts rage, maraud, and devour. Merciless in nature... I find I can claim nothing of the world. [Yet thinking everything of it] Flocks of crows come to follow now and then at my back.
So many voices; Senses fade to the sounds of my less-inquired melodies. Are there no ears to hear them by? From my lips fall hymns to metamorphosis' pulse. Can I bear what has become? What once was? What will be? Can eluvium once buried come to surface once again?
...Remaining just a seed, deprivation in a nutshell, simply awaiting for that vital sign; Wondering if there is a space in the fabric of time with my dimensions to fit.
I'm unraveled in the rain because the sky so reflects my soul.
And in this cryptic forest, the raw shadows speak.
"Lo, the longings you run away from! I am the embodiment of your stigma; My lips detest the wretched unseeing. You seek and hide from futile promise, yet avert from human whim- the very whims that burn you."
From their dark existence- one can only notice- such blazing eyes, flickering.
"You are a ghost in a great sea, a sea composed of your profound deceit, a sea conjured from your very core: evanescent in nature. Your isolation alone is thy paradise and thy end."
Who says the night is baneful? because it is the time in which our facades are undone, letting our hearts beat in the open? Despite the shadows' dismal resonance, I find a smile in my persistent steps:
The road is an enigma...
...and it is mine.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Virtuality and the Dirge
I am rather torn today, in the overwhelming flood of the expressions to be transpired. It seems that writing doesn't come to me so easily anymore; at least in this point of time. And yet at another turn it matters nothing because of the reasons I write in the first place... they have been stripped away from me.
You see, when you percieve something to be real within your mind, is it not real indeed to you? However, if in actuality this 'perception' is infact false then sooner or later the effects of its falsitude will be made known. The very reasons for which I wrote were after all, illusions, reverie, dream. fantasy. This very work in progress is harrowingly empty. Vague and worthless. Haha, perhaps as all of them have been? Except this time I feel nothing, this is inept "thing" is only badgering at void.
The entire, never-ending stream of consciousness that envelopes my life today and yesterday, and even tomorrow if i be so bold to proclaim...reeks of irrelevance in written form, just as it does upon the tongue.
It seems that the tracks have ceased. And thus, I shall turn away, and perhaps find some other road that will take me to the same familiar place as I have always been, though haven't acknowleged up until now.
After all, destination is a state of mind.
Until Then.
You see, when you percieve something to be real within your mind, is it not real indeed to you? However, if in actuality this 'perception' is infact false then sooner or later the effects of its falsitude will be made known. The very reasons for which I wrote were after all, illusions, reverie, dream. fantasy. This very work in progress is harrowingly empty. Vague and worthless. Haha, perhaps as all of them have been? Except this time I feel nothing, this is inept "thing" is only badgering at void.
The entire, never-ending stream of consciousness that envelopes my life today and yesterday, and even tomorrow if i be so bold to proclaim...reeks of irrelevance in written form, just as it does upon the tongue.
It seems that the tracks have ceased. And thus, I shall turn away, and perhaps find some other road that will take me to the same familiar place as I have always been, though haven't acknowleged up until now.
After all, destination is a state of mind.
Until Then.
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