A sunbeam strikes a gong within the soul,
the forest whispers through the canopy.
The naming of the rain reveals the toll,
wind blows away the self to set me free.
I strip away my armor without fear,
the body underneath has been dissolved.
I sacrifice my sight to be a seer;
through astral eyes, I judge, and am absolved.
As joy takes up its journey by my side,
And I take in the things I'll never do,
I let go of my arrogance and pride,
now the only way out is fully through.
Confounded by the cosmic, I will sing:
"Spread love to every person, place, or thing."

In the perpetual pursuit
of planetary pleasures,
a purported supporter of such
paranormal potions must
ponder: is pleasure, in principle,
the peak,
or perhaps is it a journey,
from point O to point P
purposely pouncing to provide
pyromaniacs with plentiful
planks for the pyre.

Sometimes, the meaning behind words
doesn't reveal itself to you
until it's already too late. You look
at a past version of yourself, unable to change
the words they're about to say,
that you said.
But it's okay. Because you can always say words.
newer, more perfect words,
today.

an unholy spirit, and otherwise entirely omnipotent God
revealed itself to me there, hiding behind the eyes
of the lighthouse.
The spirit, for a glimpse of eternity, plunges the mind into an ice bath of adrenaline and fire.
I am reminded now of the name of fear,
and once Her name is spoken, nothing will ever be okay again.
I speak in tongues understood only by paranoiacs and vegetables,
once more made aware of a prophecy, and what it reveals about nothing.

There is a snake there, waiting
venomously for an apple that makes its fangs fall out.
The first of sentient apes turn on immortal creators,
and are charged in the eye of Justice
for every extraordinary discovery in the ensuant history of
sin.

Encumbered by the lunacies of men,
the seed of joy lays in a greater mind.
The breath will draw you closer to the den,
where every answer waits for one to find.
The self blows as the wind through all the sky,
Monsoons and sighs blown from a single Air.
The wanderings of lust begin to die,
New flowers grow from bones without a care.
The flow of water carves the ancient rock,
as cosmic wheels kaleidoscope through time.
A shepherd hunts a wolf to save a flock,
but canine birth remains its only crime.
Release thy worldly ties upon the skin,
Ascend the stony staircase deep within.

Oftentimes, you realize, that the shaking of an intangible void, desperate, clinging before it too is lost on an otherworldly transform of otherwise incomprehensible, nightmarish, or null thoughts, buried between the conceptions of self-deliverance and a bone-knuckled release into an endlessly exploding oblivion, or the intangible touch of a thousand tiger's treasuries.