The rose is at the tip of the fingers
the thorn is down the abyss what now
is a golden sun in a dew
hanging on its petal balmy hue!
The nightingale did jump on it
first thing in the morn
but one seems to know the rose
since the dawning of the dawn!
i like to revel in the grey
black and white too straight
i like to read in between the lines
i would like for you to be mine
but only if you want to
I only want you in this room, underneath the full moon
kiss until it’s noon, is forever too soon?
from dusk to dawn, the king or the pawn
as long as you want to play, my hand is yours to take
from weak to strong, we can build each other up
as long as you want to lay, always together through the night and day
I will arise, shine and worship my Lord.
Coming to me with healing in his wings,
The risen Sun of righteousness has poured
His light on me and every bird that sings.
He fills my cup with orange juice, my eyes
With sorrow-blinding, Satan-binding light.
He hangs above my head in dry blue skies
A paper bow that's been there through the night.
A dreamer of bad dreams, I've been asleep
And thought myself awake, and been afraid
Where phantoms loomed and werewolves dressed as sheep,
And every day in every way I decayed.
Let sluggards sleep till noon and then be glum.
I will arise and shine. My light is come.
Everything draws me to you:
The pulse of a new dawn,
The laughter of the sun,
The aroma of baked bread,
The song of a bird,
The fragrance of a flower,
The magnificent beauty of nature,
The miracle of a baby's birth,
The whisper of hope and humanity.
Everywhere I gaze, I see your beautiful face.
Anywhere I go, I feel the touch of your love.
You are the compass of the hearts
And the Infinite light of the whole universe!
Fear not the candle burned at both ends,
A silent dawn of broken words and disintegrated phrases,
For you have attended to the tremblings of your soul
And made them known to yourself.
Empty of struggle and replete with possibility, I meet the page unfettered by convention. For a mind exhilarated by exhaustion anything and everything is open to reinterpretation. Solitude rendered absolute; no graceless distraction. Silence made holy; no retrieval from the brink. How to outrun quotidian considerations? How to distinguish between the rarefied and the fundamental? There is language. There are limitations. There is the writer…feeling soundlessly.
‘I slept with faith and found a corpse in my arms on awakening; I drank and danced all night with doubt and found her a ****** in the morning.’
- Aleister Crowley
For a moment you a moonlit dream,
me a grounded reality got intertwined.
You the best of good,
me the worst of bad
met at the right corner of the round world.
However, like a flame finding fuel,
my fear of the lovely dawn solidifies.
Alas, the dream that can't be grasped has finally disappeared.
It is cold, Ginger Tea.
Nothing much, just
I like honest & modest people.
He is not, yet.