This is a Prelude to the canyon out on a vast plane.
Within a desert of sorts crying for the rain. Bursting explosions from the thought plateau.
Brought us drops of pain and the hate that you know.

This is a Prelude to the canyon in which we live.
Oh that vast plane gave all she had to give. Eyes wide to the sky where the horizons they bend.
Out on the perimeter we could never find the end.

This is a Prelude to the canyon all we are is thought.
Now we're in for nasty weather you like it or not.
Screaming through the cosmic sea at dawn I see the Horizon it seems so long, so long gone.

This is a Prelude to the canyon it's all we know.
The desert rains are coming, coming on so slow.
Hazy mornings were the thinking thoughts advanced.
That's where fate extends to us her Olive Branch.

This is a Prelude to the canyon shall we take the leap?
From that vast expanse to the crevasse deep.
Down where the fires glow in the caves we live.
Where the shadows dance on the Walls Within.

This is the Canyonlands where we've chose to hide.
Full of beaten paths down to the Riverside. Where the waters drain from the plains plateau. And the flames of the fire inside us grow where the flames of the fire inside us grow....

I hate my house
Every corner every corridor
I hate the doorknobs, hate the windows
Despise the bump on the kitchen floor

Every drip of the bathroom tap is agony
The backyard and every tree
I can't stand the way it screeches
Against the lightest breeze

I hate the chairs, I hate the tables
Light bulbs, curtains, endless stains
Sockets stuffed with cables
Set fire to my brain

I hate the way my house stares at me
I wish it would just stop
The wallpaper I have memorised
Is now my life's' backdrop

The doors slam against my hands
The shower burns my feet
My heavy mind with all its' might
Runs up and down my street

My heart is fixed by every string
I'm sewn into the thick carpet
I'm baked onto the plates
I will never ever leave, this house that I hate

and by that i mean,
will someone ever cherish it
like i try to do.

My heart is beating rhythmically
 In resonance to the beat of 'End Of Time’.
My soul is breathing in tranquility,
In response to the gleaming full moon.
My body is surviving poetically
In reply to the poetries I write.

bodies - fisher nests
- let the cutch go

and in the 12th my teacher grade tenderly grabbed my wrist
and said
what is this
and
I said
me
But
that was the wrong answer
he wanted me to say
my —-wrist
he wanted me to say my
MINE

He wanted me to take ownership
of my body
he wanted to acknowledge
Or
He wanted me to acknowledge
that I was
An inside
of a body
And
Not a body
He wanted
Me to think what I just
“mistakenly”
called “me” was just a vessel
To hold “me”
That is it was lent to me and would return
from whence it came
that I was barely or merely or some other kind of “erely” visiting
and
that me and mine were different when it came to body

Such a kindness and autono-motive restoration to remind a person that they are
More
That they are not their looks
or their actions
Or even potential ambulation
I know what he offered me was a kindness

I declined
I said no in my own way
If you’re wondering
What I said was “you are what you eat”

I still don’t know what I meant
If I meant

and I’ll ozymandius myself
If I claim to be more than this

I am crumbling, but I will stand tall on these broken feet

As soon as I can fix my posture

Baha'u'llah is the Fire of Being kindled by the snow of
faith, whereas the Spirit is the eyewash of light
upon the prism of the heart.

Notice how Baha'u'llah's Fire of Being is lit in the
conscious mind and not the subconscious mind like the Spirit is.
The conscious mind is a mind without concern for
past or future. It knows no rank and holds no
station. It has no depth or height. It has no design and
holds no symbol.
It knows no support.
It is a mark of crimson. It holds no eloquent speaker, except the inspiration of the heart, and Baha'u'llah Himself.
It knows no plan except 'Abdu'l-Baha's Divine Plan, it has
no mortal guide except Shoghi Effendi's letters.
It carries out the devotion shown to it.
Devotion here is one thing done at a time, and cannot be
sustained except with great desire.
There is no room for impressing someone.
It hath no wisdom save what is stored in the heart.
It sees the world as a child, 100% hope.
Its energy is the ignorance of purity.
Its captain is the invoker of His Word.
It is stoked at the fire of responsibility.
It is drowned by the remembrance of aught except Him.

i want to make you feel guilty
for changing your mind about me.

it’s not your fault that i am damaged
but it is your fault for how you acted.

it’s okay if you don’t want my body
because i’m not letting you anywhere near it.

*** with you is better as a concept anyway.