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Paul NP Jul 1
She who is well spoken has a mind of worth.
Takes giving and lesson from the soil out of
Air and Earth.

Two works.

Of Feather, The Father of The Aether, of thin air, this thin veil we spare from our Mothers. The Mother, The Healer, mediating sands. As the waters of our souls get poured into the land.
(Ambient splash sounds)

Breath by breath. Wave by wave.
This is the song of sentience in thy name.

Breath by breath. Wave by wave. This is the song of sentience in thy name.

By The Spirit of heat in sand.
I flash step in the spirit of my hands.
For the rest of my life I stay true
I will, I will do.
Each little grain supporting all our fame within the flames of fortune.
Fortunate to love my cells, and my calls.
Paul NP Jun 16
Her eyes, piercing through the veil.
Felt as if she was given, but she had chosen this way-in.
Introverted visionaries of extroverted politics.
Picking up rods and staffs out of the abyssal airs of
Storm. Thunder in the hands of a victim, clenching
the black sands of a vision-less torment.
On the sands, on the sands of an Empath.

But out from the mud and clay of a silver and blue oasis. Through the steaming council of a warping wall. A Portal opened up her thirst to this thrall. Where the day's moon  pocketed the corner, of her upper most thanks to think things over.
She paced elegantly, closer and closer.

And through the mist, a mysterious bliss kissed the tip of her upper lips. The scent of a cool memory. This water of Mana, that quenched the flowering stanza's of a blue lotus vision.
In depth and revision.
Through the tingling sense of forgiveness.
She was beautified and living.
Paul NP Jun 5
Can you hear me?
(While the birds were chirping)
Her voice was outside and inside at time same time but not in the same place.

Truly I heard her voice about 12 feet out and to the right of me.

But in my mind, in a place where there was or is nothing. I thought about those birds chirping. I did not see them in my awareness but I felt those sounds tingle in my inner ear. That vibration and that bump. That feeling accompanying a rush in my chest. The voices of a subtle crowd of sounds in vertigo.

And her voice, what was her sound? Can you hear me?
All I heard was her elegent beauty.
In, I responded with: yeahh... once before. But this time around I said nothing. And the breath I"m holding back as I wished to react with, hurts like a broken telephone.
Quelling desires for new ones
Paul NP Apr 6
People say that I'm enchanted and deserving.
I am a tad insecure.
They come by after years of dissonance
to play prayer on a lost consonance.
This unison of a depraved boy, or a talking poet.
Shining through the undersoul of a lost half.
The self of a loud sun. Alien to money.
Riding a fume that was long begotten, causing storms in
the compass I've got. My heart.

I quit playing with fortune, living the rest of my life is no burden.
Comfortably summed up in the touch of God.
Paul NP Mar 8
ice fire and the cryogene.
clear water with most love.
sprouting the finest being.
The god of
echo haiku
Paul NP Jan 26
Electric rips of ether, electric eithers spreading fathers of featureless air.
I'm not a backward brother, not a fallen intelligent mother. Not a dream speaker of an other, or an otter, paddling the current of a smoker. I am not a dissonant freak, with ears that peak through a veiled talker in the center of my breeze.

I am a Human being.

Electric coronal blotted ego, spread across a lamented dimensionfull Ether. Spirit of the earth ling, child ling, child hood - emasculated - with the muscles of neither bronchial clearing nor chest's breathing in fear. Clearing the sound of a speaker, I'm a single monadic breather, breathing for feelers in the healing vibration of a sparked be-ing.

I am being concentrated, content with the illusions I magistrate in empathetic sound bites of foreign homes I sound right in. My old futile following is my governing responsibility, aisle of a lost ark holding up a souled spark for the presence of a real breathing continuity in the summer in the summer, golden guilded memory, I was home.

170 Thornhill
Paul NP Jan 3
Reverber, I have a fervor to take you to a place you may not know.
The unforested flower, unfostered yet gleaming lilly.
Under the unknit stars of our flames.
Un unified, totally speaking through empty
reverberations of breathing. Sharing space, it's there right now, calling your famous face to the crown, the crowd.
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