Apr 2012
When? Who? Where? Am I something? What am I now?*
Time has bestowed upon me a chaste and sacred gift,
The likes of which has been long sought after and yet the voice within has taught me to doubt my strong inner virtue.
Lambent spheres of diadems composed of flame follow me to the world's corners,
I lie here in confusion as each *epitaph above me in the clouds places devastation upon me.
Who am I? I ask this in need of all the answers that lurk within me.. Who am I?
I ask this over and over again until there is nothing left within me, till' the voice within me collapses into naught and this whisper of a soul commands perseverance that will lead to success.
Tragedy and a cord that leads to the Sun materialize in my midst, my escape venue has been revealed in the utmost way possible.
The light in the skies has turned into golden thread, the emitted radiation and heat of this celestial body is turned into golden threads of ethereality that are tethered to the earthy soil beneath my feet.
The Sun and Moon rise and take a strip of Earth along with me, I rise to become one with the Universe and she greets me with an abysmal black hole of nothingness.
I am devoured as a parasitic being envelopes my whole quintessence and She, yes She the Universe glows within my soul; we become one in the same as I vanish into a wormhole.
I am nothingness and nothingness is I, ethereality composes what I am and am not all at once.
What am I? What am I? A galactic burst of nebular gases; a vapor vanishing into the cosmos and preventing disarray by maintaining Her equanimity.
Love; I tire of this being known as enamorment; She is the enemy of my former existence.
Denial and dereliction have brought me to a place of escape; I have fled to the distant spans of the Universe hiding from the blue shift radiation of my former existence.
I have been compacted into a shell and no one can tell me that there was a virtue in that once beloved dream called love.
But what about now?
What am I now? Am I nothingness or am I something? An impossibility in this world that we know to be full of sensible notions and vain equations.
We try to make sense of things that lament us; that grieve us so.
We detach from the heartache of what we once were when we were conjoined with the being of a former life.
A life where the butterflies of our youth remind us of the fondling of our souls; when our endearment to another celestial body emitted a gravitational pull.
Who are you?
That is what I said the first time I saw your face!
But now I sit hear, being the incorporeal being that I am!
Being unable to shed tears, I have no need for useless emotions...
I have never needed that which had only corrupted the elixir of my rhapsodizing dreams.
I wish to float above the clouds once more; I wish to be on Cloud Nine in another life; I wish to be resurrected with a corona of love emanating from my heart, spirit and soul.
What shall I do now?
I'm a nothing, a love deprived and nonexistent being who forfeited his force of nature known as the will to live on.
That gale of epic means; that tsunami ravaging the enemies of repose; placidity follows disaster you know...
When all of this is over, when my nonexistent form is chosen to be brought back into a materialized form, maybe, just maybe this intergalactic potion known as love with burst the confines of this vessel of mine.
Maybe the future self will evolve into a being carrying the stars within his innards and the waste of impurity will become a cleansing water of benediction.
Glittering skin and iridescent bones are hopeful layers of a multidimensional being which has yet to come into existence.
Just when I thought it was over, I give myself another chance to inspect the confines of the Earth again.
I prowl the black hole that I am, that I wasn't and that I became in search of an escape.
You are something; that is what I hope to hear on the other side; I hope that I am merely dreaming since the dream that I had once entertained has now become a nightmare, one filled with despondency and convolution.
I am drenched in thought like a sponge; how am I capable of thinking without a physical being to inhabit?
Am I just this speech bubble with thoughts inserted into it?
Have I become the dream of another?
Am I really just an ephemeral stench, a fleeting odor that is repugnant to the observer or the creator of my thoughtful existence?
Maybe I'm just a mere figment of the imagination...
Time has bestowed upon me a chaste and sacred gift,
The likes of which has been long sought after and yet the voice within has taught me to doubt my strong inner virtue.
Lambent spheres of diadems composed of flame follow me to the world's corners,
I lie here in confusion as each *epitaph above me in the clouds places devastation upon me.
Who am I? I ask this in need of all the answers that lurk within me.. Who am I?
I ask this over and over again until there is nothing left within me, till' the voice within me collapses into naught and this whisper of a soul commands perseverance that will lead to success.
Tragedy and a cord that leads to the Sun materialize in my midst, my escape venue has been revealed in the utmost way possible.
The light in the skies has turned into golden thread, the emitted radiation and heat of this celestial body is turned into golden threads of ethereality that are tethered to the earthy soil beneath my feet.
The Sun and Moon rise and take a strip of Earth along with me, I rise to become one with the Universe and she greets me with an abysmal black hole of nothingness.
I am devoured as a parasitic being envelopes my whole quintessence and She, yes She the Universe glows within my soul; we become one in the same as I vanish into a wormhole.
I am nothingness and nothingness is I, ethereality composes what I am and am not all at once.
What am I? What am I? A galactic burst of nebular gases; a vapor vanishing into the cosmos and preventing disarray by maintaining Her equanimity.
Love; I tire of this being known as enamorment; She is the enemy of my former existence.
Denial and dereliction have brought me to a place of escape; I have fled to the distant spans of the Universe hiding from the blue shift radiation of my former existence.
I have been compacted into a shell and no one can tell me that there was a virtue in that once beloved dream called love.
But what about now?
What am I now? Am I nothingness or am I something? An impossibility in this world that we know to be full of sensible notions and vain equations.
We try to make sense of things that lament us; that grieve us so.
We detach from the heartache of what we once were when we were conjoined with the being of a former life.
A life where the butterflies of our youth remind us of the fondling of our souls; when our endearment to another celestial body emitted a gravitational pull.
Who are you?
That is what I said the first time I saw your face!
But now I sit hear, being the incorporeal being that I am!
Being unable to shed tears, I have no need for useless emotions...
I have never needed that which had only corrupted the elixir of my rhapsodizing dreams.
I wish to float above the clouds once more; I wish to be on Cloud Nine in another life; I wish to be resurrected with a corona of love emanating from my heart, spirit and soul.
What shall I do now?
I'm a nothing, a love deprived and nonexistent being who forfeited his force of nature known as the will to live on.
That gale of epic means; that tsunami ravaging the enemies of repose; placidity follows disaster you know...
When all of this is over, when my nonexistent form is chosen to be brought back into a materialized form, maybe, just maybe this intergalactic potion known as love with burst the confines of this vessel of mine.
Maybe the future self will evolve into a being carrying the stars within his innards and the waste of impurity will become a cleansing water of benediction.
Glittering skin and iridescent bones are hopeful layers of a multidimensional being which has yet to come into existence.
Just when I thought it was over, I give myself another chance to inspect the confines of the Earth again.
I prowl the black hole that I am, that I wasn't and that I became in search of an escape.
You are something; that is what I hope to hear on the other side; I hope that I am merely dreaming since the dream that I had once entertained has now become a nightmare, one filled with despondency and convolution.
I am drenched in thought like a sponge; how am I capable of thinking without a physical being to inhabit?
Am I just this speech bubble with thoughts inserted into it?
Have I become the dream of another?
Am I really just an ephemeral stench, a fleeting odor that is repugnant to the observer or the creator of my thoughtful existence?
Maybe I'm just a mere figment of the imagination...
