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The colour of rose shines through layers of dust on the glass, table, book, pen and twists itself upon the sheets to become purple. If the touch of sunset rests on my eyes, let the inward worlds grow. For the light is here to made and remade, brushing  shadows. Cover the veil blue and mesmerise the senses. Augment the quickness in slow movements of pearly thought from the deep depth of almond core.
J E A Cole Jun 23
The sweetness of cheery springs from Sun. Sharp rays spread out to the world, lightly tipping, gently dipping into the spacious glass and reflect in the graveness of dark, the beauty of beam. This is the modest delight of a fae song, which divides into many a piece of rose - shaped star, all lightfull and lifefull. So the love letter to a painting stated (with sympathies never returned) back in the Eastern Lands of Winter White. And by the tinkling lights of these sharp rays, for that love we won't mourn.
J E A Cole Jun 17
There is no such a thing as universal, for everything – in form and content – differs, and by no means there is a possibility of grasping one's meaning. For words are faithless and shallow, sights insufficent to express or perform. Then how to think, talk, or go about? One might name this the absence in its entierty, but it is rather the fullness of matter. This congested state burdens the mind, and we are formed in silence, which materializes the images, by which we drive all kinds of affection and call it in unity – love. We fill this word with the utmost importance, because we believe it is the only possible thing that may connect us with the others – and  in fact – it is quite so. But, as other things, this led many to believe love had a form, and a specific one – strictly defined and socially coded. So, one has a right to ask, how anyone should dare to reach for the unspeakable, natural cause of creation; the only mean of connection? For to define is to break, and to force is to destroy. It has been called morality, because the brutes did practice it, and still do so. What does stimulate the inhuman violence upon the soul? To cease the senses which enable us to feel, and shut the heart seems to be our cause of a long time. How did this fault befall us? What drove the man to **** his mean? We may stand differently, more truly to ourselves, if only we would allow to admit our own indivduality.  Histerical cry for social unity is unnatural and ******: γνῶθι σεαυτόν. As there was a more natural state of yore, might inspire us to create a subsequent one. The world will change, and we will not break.
In memoriam Oscar Wilde
J E A Cole Jun 11
Sun stained blood and blood stained sun to me akin, awoke the lines forever lean, in the perpetual movement of ever raising moons of the mindful eye, opulent with many a sight of strange and secret that resides and does not perish, as long as thought can grasp and pen stroke pass.
J E A Cole Jun 5
In childhood Love came to me purple entwined with yellow, in a strength of movement, and I wanted to resemble it
Through dance the soul grew material
And from matter back to transcedance
Of swift colours and tingles
How strange it is to have a body of your own
For we still perceive this life as a dream of senses, and laugh it away with thoughts such as
There is a need for a teapot big enough for me to fit in and swim amongst the tea leaves
Or whether there ever was a difference between ginger core and spongy bone
And in the end, I run away from it all, and hide in the ripe rye and corn
J E A Cole May 30
In the mellowest light of lilac hours
Dewed branches glimmer in lifefull spectre,
Nurture the sight and feed the body
Rose - clinking hushes the early morning's
Insect hustle and shuts down the micro - worlds
It is time for us to repose
Nature wreaths the mind in million lighted
Colours of youth - lasting spring, like web
It spreads through us till we are but foam of images.
J E A Cole May 24
The sacered snakes swim through the chestnut river
Glimering heads turning upward in the light of orange - embered sun
Hissing they whisper of life in the muddy waters, tasting earthly foul
Light is their swim, the landscape vast
And so is the fear of wilde liberty
For it is a cage of its own
Fruitful and evergeen in blissful delight
Iron - stained and crooked in eternal sight
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