A lone god, as Shiva, standing upon a rock upon the sea upon the earth upon the tear of the Christ who wandered forever in the bloodstream of the savior of your own debt to darkness.

Standing as the waves crashed upon the wizardly and nostalgic jeans crafted from the dreams you had once when drama and a storm sat dormant in your heart.

Extending one hand towards the North Star, in a salute of desperation and longing to return via apotheosis to the realm of one's own dreamland home.  

Desperation, like the thirst of 10,000 beetles who drink blood like golden honey which drips from space like stars that melt and die in the winds whom are the kings of the middle americas.

Kings, like the standing stone.

Shiva, a tear, a stone...Is You or I.
The Stone, remember, is the dream you let die.

The ocean which swallows you all, is the death of nostalgia and hope.

Split the sea with the Trident of Shiva.

You are a God, if you choose.

He smiled as he looked up the hill at me.
I was asked if I knew the friend in the sky.
I said nothing. I was frozen in unknowing.
I was frozen in unknowing.
I was nihilism in this moment.

He smiled as he looked up to the sky.
The friend was asked if he knew me.
The sky said nothing.
The friend was frozen in omnipotence.
The friend was frozen in omnipotence.

I was warm with the notion.
I was warm with the knowing.
The friend was there.
The man he smiled at me, and I knew in his certainty the truth was as such.

His friend was there.
/My/ friend was there.

I waiting forever for Godot.
Only to realize the sky was in my heart.
The friend was I.
I was the sky.
The Friend, I and He and All, was inside and above.
It was within.
It was without.

Allah made my spirit porous.
Hashem made my spirit white light.
Jesus made my spirit gracious.
Buddha made my spirit still.
Shiva made my spirit real.
I made my spirit sing.

I smiled as I looked up the hill at him.

Svnrise over golden shores
Þe fog departs
Yea, it parts to allow for the liqvid light

Þe frosted air sets fire,
Tvrns to mist,
Tvrns to dew,
Tvrns to dvst.

Withering, withering, withering down.
A spiral of emptiness and weakness in my own heart.
A sickly form of hate.
A frail figure of shadows and misery and memorie.

O! and what is the field of golden corn compared to the bruise on your throat.
Choked by the ******* of godliness, when she is called life///when she is called death.

Forced to spit out your last drop of blood, through your pharynx///through your eyes.

Sexually with the knife in hand. Like stone to butter, stabbing within the heart of the devil. Like the beast with three *****, who carries the devil in his sinful testicles...you stab stab stab at the flesh of your own chest.

No hair after the fire, no blood after the lust.

The sexuality which assaults YOUR OWN SANITY. It becomes you.

Withering and withering within the HELL of your own spiral.

O! and when are you to become the devil within the sac of the beast?

To be born and reborn again within the light of the sun.

Burning away in a pool of blood that you craved forever.

Burning back together in a pool of ***** that you craved forever.

O! and who are you when you are left naked and alone by your own hand in a pool of hate that you craved forever, I asked myself.

As a black snowflake falling, which is also white;
On a white backdrop of life, which is also black,

I escaped as ash of gray December.
I became as a ghost.
A single note of flute music.
A whimper on the ocean.
A tear of acid purple rain.

In ash you became.
As a moth which grows like vines of roses, black.

As a moth which flies like winds of time, tearing away your youth and beauty like sand againt stone and wood.
You became.

As a moth which is the snowflake of black or white on the land of black or white, you became. Frozen, still, silent.

Like the music I cried for.
Like the music I died for.

As you, like a moth, silently and with violent sound, became.

Once upon a whispering moon, I rode a star unto Africa.

The land was hot & covered in ice.
My eyes were glass,
Ready to shatter at the notion of ugly beauty.
A duality that would cause the sun to tear itself in twain from fear of metaphorical & metaphysical asphyxiation.

Atlas of the world turned grey as dreams turn dust to shards of crystal liquid light.

Grinning inanely & insanely for the serpent spectre sceptre is in the house of sonic devotional Kirtan emotional Islamic Jewish conditional faith & faith no where but here.
No fear.

The sky explodes
When crying gods do read their own
Stories in nothingness & apple seeds.
Cyanide & Suicide.

Doves, black,  rain, ride.
Release. Release. Release.

Death is the act of becoming.
Death is the act of birthing.
Death is all that is, creation;;;
And destruction.

Death is love.  
Death is hate.
Death is neutrality.
Death is chaos.

Death is order.
Death is truth.
Death is real.

Only death is real.  

Death, death, death.

Only death is real.

Death is life.
Death is gateways.
Death is magick.
Death is G-D.
The Lord is life,
Thus, The Lord is death.  

Death is endlessness.
Death is the spiral.
Death is forever.  
Spiral. Spiral.  Spiral.
Death is deathless.
Death is holy.
Death is Shiva.
Death is Allah
Death is *******.
Death is Om.
Death is Jesus.
Death is Roman Empires fallen.
Death is the earth fallen.
Death is trees fallen.

Only death is real.
Only The Lord is real.
The Lord is death.

Death. Death. Death.
Only death is real.

Life is illusion.
A testing dream for death.
Death is a gateway to Divinity.

Only death is real.