I pray, kneeled and cornered in on the Collapse
My life fades with the very near answer
Here I lay in bed where the stars rest upon me
Where thy souls and hearts I have met lift me
Thy soul grows, from the roses and plantations
Of murky answers, mem'ries and coerc'd choices and trends
I followed from youth to the Fountain of Wrinkles
In my life, youthful and flawed
Bold and embracing, the power and blossoming
And crossings of many audacious brave hearts
Helped and gathered my strength
When I was weak, where I could not pray
I sing a Song to Love, to a Crown, to this Gathering
We are but our Own Gods and paths
I am but a fountain of thoughts and passions and lost controls
Lost and finding, in and out of tune in a blue dot
One lost in nowhere but yet consumes my space and identity
My jobs and freedom
My spiraling grip of intellect and maturity
Philosophy and geography
I hold a candle
A rose, or scent
An elegant gift to the night that gave me this life
This vessel, strapping to leaking
Keeling at its end
This ship, finally finished its row and path
I am awashed in the music and notes I have grown up on
My silences and times spent alone
Thy Mother and Father, my Sister and Brother
My Light I pass to my kin
My rural pleasure
And my fellow Neighbor
I wish treasure and settled beauty
Nature and swallowing technology
Improvements and brash faith
To those who have given me this very Light to begin with
That I now bring forward
The intellects and baboons I have faced
Looking out the window a million times
The million fragmented visions of the One Sun
The broken pieces, the broken people I have encountered
That I desperately tried to piece together in vain
I have discovered that I cannot order when I have problems of my own
I age, I forget all I used to know
My head gets thinner
The fire, now sleeping in my head
The final word of this world
The final breath to belt this paean
I try frantically to give to others
To listen and take note.
I wear many jewels
Of forgiveness, of the Land I have been brought upon
Of God, whom is now falling from me
Yet I still give him compassion, though my once vivid faith is crashing down on me
The Westerns and Wuxias, the books and cinema
The dancing and fiery personalities I have seen
I will fall and hold and you will cry but yet these thousand blurs and poses you give me fall to light and lovely history
Of composition, yes I remember
I will see you in the underground
Or the temples of the skies O the Temple of Dawn
I will hear you in the symphonies
O how I will listen floating down the muddy rivers and the Sea of Fertility
O sweet White Light O bright white Heat O the Images of Round dances of spring pour orchestre
In the streets and by-ways
I will see your names, written everywhere even in the books I read
In The Making of Amavericks, Ah our sweet home and family and shining recollections of hearty dinner and schoolgrounds
O the Danyesummeri; the beach-littered days with moons without blemish suns without heat
My glimmering brain colliding with words and growths and blood to bash out of me
And now when I break to this gate or this crazed forest of confusing manners and horrible human comedies o when my mind gets split open and falls through the vines where I must live and make my way out how I will remember the times and the prairies and the playgrounds and all that was humble and now I feel I am scared O help O hold me up O how I search with roots rich and deep how I will search ablaze for the pavilion of my preserved sanctity in the Japanese garden of my resting place walking about and out from this limbo I stumble upon Melinoe I am frightened by Saci-Pererê stunned by the artists of Cocteau and his petrified fountains of ideas he so courageously displays I will say it I shout it in hymn in rhythm LISTEN please Listen But Yet I always know, I'll always be with you!
You saints, you teachers of mine
How you fed me all I needed
How you taught me the Birth
The Art of Vision,
The Act of Seeing with One's Own Eyes
This acknowledgment I give.
This Psalm I wholeheartedly mumble.
This pursuance that I slowly yet surely complete.
This resolution I wish to see the light of.
An Ascension, A Love Supreme.
Do I rise
Aug 25, 2010
Aug 25, 2010 at 7:33 PM UTC
I pray, kneeled and cornered in on the Collapse
My life fades with the very near answer
Here I lay in bed where the stars rest upon me
Where thy souls and hearts I have met lift me
Thy soul grows, from the roses and plantations
Of murky answers, mem'ries and coerc'd choices and trends
I followed from youth to the Fountain of Wrinkles
In my life, youthful and flawed
Bold and embracing, the power and blossoming
And crossings of many audacious brave hearts
Helped and gathered my strength
When I was weak, where I could not pray
I sing a Song to Love, to a Crown, to this Gathering
We are but our Own Gods and paths
I am but a fountain of thoughts and passions and lost controls
Lost and finding, in and out of tune in a blue dot
One lost in nowhere but yet consumes my space and identity
My jobs and freedom
My spiraling grip of intellect and maturity
Philosophy and geography
I hold a candle
A rose, or scent
An elegant gift to the night that gave me this life
This vessel, strapping to leaking
Keeling at its end
This ship, finally finished its row and path
I am awashed in the music and notes I have grown up on
My silences and times spent alone
Thy Mother and Father, my Sister and Brother
My Light I pass to my kin
My rural pleasure
And my fellow Neighbor
I wish treasure and settled beauty
Nature and swallowing technology
Improvements and brash faith
To those who have given me this very Light to begin with
That I now bring forward
The intellects and baboons I have faced
Looking out the window a million times
The million fragmented visions of the One Sun
The broken pieces, the broken people I have encountered
That I desperately tried to piece together in vain
I have discovered that I cannot order when I have problems of my own
I age, I forget all I used to know
My head gets thinner
The fire, now sleeping in my head
The final word of this world
The final breath to belt this paean
I try frantically to give to others
To listen and take note.
I wear many jewels
Of forgiveness, of the Land I have been brought upon
Of God, whom is now falling from me
Yet I still give him compassion, though my once vivid faith is crashing down on me
The Westerns and Wuxias, the books and cinema
The dancing and fiery personalities I have seen
I will fall and hold and you will cry but yet these thousand blurs and poses you give me fall to light and lovely history
Of composition, yes I remember
I will see you in the underground
Or the temples of the skies O the Temple of Dawn
I will hear you in the symphonies
O how I will listen floating down the muddy rivers and the Sea of Fertility
O sweet White Light O bright white Heat O the Images of Round dances of spring pour orchestre
In the streets and by-ways
I will see your names, written everywhere even in the books I read
In The Making of Amavericks, Ah our sweet home and family and shining recollections of hearty dinner and schoolgrounds
O the Danyesummeri; the beach-littered days with moons without blemish suns without heat
My glimmering brain colliding with words and growths and blood to bash out of me
And now when I break to this gate or this crazed forest of confusing manners and horrible human comedies o when my mind gets split open and falls through the vines where I must live and make my way out how I will remember the times and the prairies and the playgrounds and all that was humble and now I feel I am scared O help O hold me up O how I search with roots rich and deep how I will search ablaze for the pavilion of my preserved sanctity in the Japanese garden of my resting place walking about and out from this limbo I stumble upon Melinoe I am frightened by Saci-Pererê stunned by the artists of Cocteau and his petrified fountains of ideas he so courageously displays I will say it I shout it in hymn in rhythm LISTEN please Listen But Yet I always know, I'll always be with you!
You saints, you teachers of mine
How you fed me all I needed
How you taught me the Birth
The Art of Vision,
The Act of Seeing with One's Own Eyes
This acknowledgment I give.
This Psalm I wholeheartedly mumble.
This pursuance that I slowly yet surely complete.
This resolution I wish to see the light of.
An Ascension, A Love Supreme.
Do I rise
Use this in sites as you may, but at least say who the author is--Rondu McPhee, none more none less, Rondu McPhee, that you may guess.