Oh eye, of a day gone by in ease How I used to radiate light, now you are a messenger of gray. You have a face of winter winds. You never stay too long in the lighted center. Don't you remember the dreams we've had? In the world beyond the dust? No, light does not come often from the lawful self, but is rather from knowledge or wisdom met with a hundred mercies. My spirit is too diverse in colors to be seen as one light. My creation does not lie in the fixation of a white or golden light, rather its creativity is seen in how I design. My beauty is more than a point, it is as a flower held in front of a point. Only by its being there does the point recognize the flower's value. How I wish to be blessed with the point that my flower can hold it. Hardly a petal is accepted, what an aged face I've become. My own inner spirit must combine with my body to make beauty, which then must pass through my own acceptance - how hard it is. Something's always afoul. I should give up and say there's no such thing as beauty in an eye. I am to be the saddest face if I behold your seas of bliss repeatedly. A true smile comes from the Earth beneath me. With enough shaking, it turns my heart to joy. But it doesn't show on my skin. There is no beauty in men.
one day the world will forget our names, our memories will be wiped away from the surface of the earth and the things we used to own will turn to ashes with us. then, we'll be buried underground. we will become one with the earth and our flesh will linger through the wildflowers and sprout again above our coffins and we'll say our last words to the wind. the temples that were made for us will turn into an artifact, a museum of what we were and what we could have been. one day, the last star will collapse and the universe will be inhabitable. but we will linger around the dark and black void that we once called home.
one day the world will forget your name but the temple that is made for you will still linger 6 feet underneath and finally, you will become an artifact like those ruins you came to know and love and until then, i will love you like the moon above.
Perfecting the Art of Illusions I've been told I am a Mystery A rare commodity A secret jewel intrigued by my glistering ways That's good A blimp I will remain As my inner thoughts relieve my convoluted brain But what am I thinking? Is the question from a thousand tongues And like a thousand suns My words burst with molten magma Melting your mind to a liquid mesh No longer having a being Eyes blinded by the over bearing rays No longer seeing Shouts from the thousand acres earthquake No longer hearing Only a touch remains To feel a chocolate covered artifact Formed by the selfish cell fish Fighting the class of the sea fish