We found the fountainhead of the dark brimming night,
wasn't blue black as one would think, but white,
shimmering bright, flight of the pigeons, unexpected;
waves beating repeatedly against the shores, fluorescent blue poles,
seething in love and lust,bursting bright in overwhelming desire,
limitless yen to break every restraint, to merge and be only one.
put your logic aside and dive in to the phantom depths
where you reach without moving an inch in space,
blue receptacle, the cave concealing silver sparkles
she and I were yin and yang, on an exploration of the self mountain
in the uniform of beasts, though in an incognito vacation in our forest,
it's all fantasy that creates various hues, black and white too
there were no butterflies with fragile wings under the starlit night,
when we wished the night sky was full of them, flying, alighting on our bodies entwined, in a frenzy; they tickled and caressed with tender wings,
like dissipated pieces of rainbow, one following the other,
in a rare migratory path, across the horizon, in to the unknown.
the fountainhead of the night, we see it without even eyes,
interplanetary travelers we are, in our crafts, even if they look fragile,
the essence of being is beyond the realm of real,
we had out of body awareness,
both imagination and dream are filled with
undulating moon grace.
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 3:36 AM UTC
We found the fountainhead of the dark brimming night,
wasn't blue black as one would think, but white,
shimmering bright, flight of the pigeons, unexpected;
waves beating repeatedly against the shores, fluorescent blue poles,
seething in love and lust,bursting bright in overwhelming desire,
limitless yen to break every restraint, to merge and be only one.
put your logic aside and dive in to the phantom depths
where you reach without moving an inch in space,
blue receptacle, the cave concealing silver sparkles
she and I were yin and yang, on an exploration of the self mountain
in the uniform of beasts, though in an incognito vacation in our forest,
it's all fantasy that creates various hues, black and white too
there were no butterflies with fragile wings under the starlit night,
when we wished the night sky was full of them, flying, alighting on our bodies entwined, in a frenzy; they tickled and caressed with tender wings,
like dissipated pieces of rainbow, one following the other,
in a rare migratory path, across the horizon, in to the unknown.
the fountainhead of the night, we see it without even eyes,
interplanetary travelers we are, in our crafts, even if they look fragile,
the essence of being is beyond the realm of real,
we had out of body awareness,
both imagination and dream are filled with
undulating moon grace.
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