Nov 2011
The endless night stretches its arms wide and long to the edges of twilight.
The air is soft and fulfilled with the scents of earth and mystery as above us all, the stars burn with subtle intensity and hellfire. Like the Ghosts of ancient Gods; kept alive by waning thoughts in their prisons strong as eggshells and high as romance.
The cool longing rides the breeze of time. It feels like freedom is at hand and this morning will never come. The day is locked in it's grasp; held at bay by our obstinate refusal of it and the midnight jazz that crickets and owls make. Everything is cool and seductive in the way poets cannot name. It is infinite and pure, like the second before a new lover's kiss and it is omnipresent in the way mysteries embrace.
Long live the endless night, long live the freedom of now.
May we find words to sell to poets, so that this time between worlds can be expressed.
The air is soft and fulfilled with the scents of earth and mystery as above us all, the stars burn with subtle intensity and hellfire. Like the Ghosts of ancient Gods; kept alive by waning thoughts in their prisons strong as eggshells and high as romance.
The cool longing rides the breeze of time. It feels like freedom is at hand and this morning will never come. The day is locked in it's grasp; held at bay by our obstinate refusal of it and the midnight jazz that crickets and owls make. Everything is cool and seductive in the way poets cannot name. It is infinite and pure, like the second before a new lover's kiss and it is omnipresent in the way mysteries embrace.
Long live the endless night, long live the freedom of now.
May we find words to sell to poets, so that this time between worlds can be expressed.
