You, that flower barely blooming; I bear thy pollination.
It is my purpose solely to cause the fruit of thy creation.
Nano art, my pantheism is objective idealism. God is in the details:
the stamen, the leaf… all is fractal, some charmingly chaotic,
All scenery composed, each part of reality is a representation;
a word of the language of reality in her garden.
Her voice is sweet like the honey suckles. Pale like her petals.
All a play, a dance, a game to the night and the sun, and to all her beloved travelers.
And while I watch her, this star behind moon and trees, behind all that I see;
behind my very being. Reality, her character is through and through me.
And in the act of creation, flower and I are as her representations,
There is no thought to our most profound desires.
Innate will to live; our mother is the essence.
Death and life are her androgyny displayed
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 9:32 AM UTC
You, that flower barely blooming; I bear thy pollination.
It is my purpose solely to cause the fruit of thy creation.
Nano art, my pantheism is objective idealism. God is in the details:
the stamen, the leaf… all is fractal, some charmingly chaotic,
All scenery composed, each part of reality is a representation;
a word of the language of reality in her garden.
Her voice is sweet like the honey suckles. Pale like her petals.
All a play, a dance, a game to the night and the sun, and to all her beloved travelers.
And while I watch her, this star behind moon and trees, behind all that I see;
behind my very being. Reality, her character is through and through me.
And in the act of creation, flower and I are as her representations,
There is no thought to our most profound desires.
Innate will to live; our mother is the essence.
Death and life are her androgyny displayed
