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Words vaporise
before they’re formed
to turn bland rinds of nothingness
escaping my mind’s horizon.

Your mystical spell
opens eclectic urges
taking me to a psychedelic world
where the voice of my inner world
goes into voiceless hibernation.

I long to dissolve
in the warmth of your ecstasy,
travel beyond the discordant shrills
of a cacophonous world
on the wings of your stillness.
White clouds
sailed down
like a whiff of melancholy
to kiss  the mountains
before wafting to the heavens
to join the cosmic mystery.

Thoughts are putrid
air in a dingy room.
They nauseate.
My heart pained.

Can light ever disobey
the one who said “let there be light”
and camouflage into
the sacrilegious web of darkness?

Light never knocks,
it gate-crashes to live
it’s destiny; it’s a melody,
no one has seen its wings;
the discerning floats
with it to join in the cosmic mystery!
Flowing from a mesmeric flute,
soothing chimes of celestial stillness
stroke every grain of my being to a lullaby.

Like a gentle mist
illuminating a willing landscape to esoteric radiance,
every cell glows to a call from the depth of stillness.

Dust returning to dust
to free the spirit from the hold of mortality
diffusing it to a galactic wonder of thoughtful mystery,
with new wings to migrate to a land
shut to mortals blinded by illusions.

On the wings of the mystical whirlwind
I dance to the call of bliss
that escort me to the heart of its radiance.
In this life we feel the fright of failure;
In our death we kneel to knights of nothing;
Above us we heed the heights of heaven;
Below us we meet the might of mountains;
There’s a sapphire light in the tundra;
There’s a narrowing sight through the jungle;
There’s a lingering night in the water;
There’s a flourishing fight in the temple—
With each new human a new connection springs
From our hearts to the heavens with secret strings;
They bind this life to the body and the soul
Trying to give us a purpose and a role,
And we search space and time for the final truth,
But the moment we find it we lose our youth
'Twas said that long ago
the girls they'd flock
from far and low for
guys who kept them guessing.

Guess what?
Idk bro, it's still a mystery.
Who understands girls anyways?
The sound waves that emanate
from one's throat and mind
echo about;
freely through space and time

Whether those sound waves
are received by
intelligent life
is the real mystery?!
It was a mystery and a pity
How, every afternoon, the brightfaced girl
Lost all red juice from her face
The biggest girl in the class
She lay like a big, gasping fish on the bench

Only part of me was inside the class
Part of me, on the yellow beach,
Busied itself with digging the pit
I'd kiss her one last time
That'd seal her sickly sleep forever

If I hadn't been asked to solve the problem
I swear i'd have buried her alive
S Rose 7d
Scorching was the color of toil,
As my feet carried me to and fro
And my hands carried the weight of service,
And my heart begging to be let go.

Alas, through the doors, a drifting breeze,
Filled with aromas, never before known,
And the cool colors of misty blues,
Instantly to her, all eyes were sewn.

I was greeted with the brightest smile,
Colors of a warm sunny hue,
But mystery shrouded her rosey cheeks,
A girl like her takes a table for two.

Yet there she sat, her company a book,
Although her eyes wandered often astray,
Most often at times, meeting mine in passing,
Lonely, they seemed to ask me to stay.

The words I wished I had spoken were left,
As a language conveyed through gestures,
And before I knew she was floating away,
Reminiscent of a distant messenger.

My eyes followed her step by step,
Off to the distant lapping of waves.
Shyly she joined, her soles with the water
She became one of the gifts God gave.

As I watched her blossom under the summer sky
Those deep colored eyes turned to me,
They said that she had no needs any longer,
And I seemed to know we would never be.

And she danced with the waves,
And the waves danced at her feet,

And she played in the sun,
And the sun played with her hair,

And her hair framed her face,
As the delicate portrait of nature’s beauty.
Ninté 7d
someone bold
something simple
lovable and mysterious
far from simple

I believe
in belief, is
that a fault or gift
either way
that is who I am
© All Rights Reserved
Maliic Mori Sep 12
The Steppenwolfs' stepson
no stranger to the strange,
strangled in thought
and a raving wonder,
was the custom of his gaze.

The specter of Mozart's laughter
bellowed loudly,
lamping light on every cloud,  
the dawn of every day,
could be trestled in his smile.

Flirting with divine perfection,
ruminating in awe,
of his sublime imaginings
nesting soundly in his noose
wolf of the steppes, man or immortal
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