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Sam Lampyris Sep 10
Date written: June 18, 2024
yisselakh@myyahoo.com

Sacred Beetle

By: Yisselakh

Intro:

The beetle climbs the wall of reality
Rolling the sun into place, into the sky of dreams

Verse:

So the beetle rolls around the Sun
Like in dust, our soul rolls around
And they say we're guided by the stars
Or is it our hearts
Or is it our hearts
Is it our hearts

Bridge:

Is this just poetry, is this just art
Is it really the truth of what we are
I'll never truly know
You'll never truly know
We'll never truly know

Pre-Chorus:

What the wise men say
The fools will never follow
If you say so if you say so
That's how they always go
That's how they always go

Chorus:

But when her heart of gold
Shines warmly on your mold
On countless fateful noons
Your heart and your soul
Your shell like sun upon the moon

Post-Chorus:

You'll know
You'll know
You'll know
And you'll believe
And you'll believe

CODA Verse:

So the beetle rolls around the Sun
Like in dust, our soul rolls around
Like they say we're guided by the stars
And all of our hearts
And all of our hearts
All of our hearts
The Secret Lives of Sam Lampyris 1
Loosely Inspired By:
FABRE’S
BOOK OF INSECTS
RETOLD FROM ALEXANDER TEIXEIRA DE MATTOS’
TRANSLATION of FABRE’S “SOUVENIRS ENTOMOLOGIQUES”
BY MRS. RODOLPH STAWELL


-------


Disclaimer:

Sam Lampyris is peeking through time from eternity. Sam Lampyris has all the time in the world. Sam Lampyris wants to know everything, Sam Lampyris wants to do everything, Sam Lampyris wants to write about everything. Sam Lampyris draws, Sam Lampyris paints, writes, learns, sings, thinks.
Sam Lampyris has many facets and many names, many interests and hobbies.
Sam Lampyris is PinkCircleLyrics,
He is Yisselakh.
He is Meynoher.
And more.
He is impulsive, and follows the ebbs and flow of his stream of consciousness faithfully.

All conscious directly inspired pastiche, homage, references, adaptation, and other derivative content will be noted, and any other similarities beyond this I can only attribute to subconscious influence, collective consciousness or unconscious, or pure coincidence.

Unlike previous works by Sam Lampyris under various pseudonyms, these works are less reactive and more proactive. This is to say that the previous poems and lyrics often sprung directly from my immediate reaction to things I have heard, listened to, read, seen or watched, and are usually much more authentic to my personal philosophy, be it intuitive or learned.

These, however, are more proactive in the sense that I voluntarily seek prompts and inspirations from books and other mediums I look to learn from and write with them in mind. I do this in order to fortify my understanding of them in my own preferred way.

However, during the writing process, my mind always, in some strange way, becomes locked in a track and I, again, seem to be always directed to follow my intuition. Thus, most of the works are non rhyming or rhyming free verses, as instead of writing with strict and consistent meters, it feels like my own being is forced to follow rhythm patterns that "feels right."

Thus, though I can't promise these thoughts are anything under the sun, in fact I can promise the exact opposite:

Ecclesiastes1:10 King James Version

"Is there any thing whereof it may be said, See, this is new? it hath been already of old time, which was before us."

I can promise these works are absolutely authentic to the entire being of Sam Lampyris, no matter what his name is at the time.
Payton Hayes Feb 2021
Tell me, my dear,   why      you keep

that golden sun beetle      tied so       tightly around your neck?

You say       that you feel naked without it, as

                           it hangs gently

        over your *******.

                         But let me tell you something.

I feel naked without you wrapped around my neck.

                      I am totally and completely exposed without your love

       to shield me from the night.

But your arms are not a ribbon.

                                  I cannot keep you on

a leash.

             Nor do I want to.

Darling, you are           the most valuable thing in the universe            to me.

And because             you mean so much,                     I must let you fly free.

I cannot keep you tied around my neck like the scarab on yours.

I can only hope that you'd willingly hang around.
This poem was written in 2016.
It's inspired by a golden beetle necklace I had years ago.
Elm Feb 2019
The scarab sits atop its collected sphere
Wielding its mental sextant
It chases the sun
And it gives its life direction

Man sits atop the same
How we yearn for unreachable ideals
The gold of perfection
Ra, the sun

So scarab we aren't much different
We spend our lives with eyes fixed on the past
Blind to the future
We roll our cherished ***** into so many obstacles
Purely out of our condition
Strike the baring rock and become lost.

We climb back up on our ball
To find our golden god
And continue as if before
Our endless journey to find Tum
The **** always strikes the fan first.
Jeff Gaines May 2018
Two scarabs, we …
hurtling through the universe.
On a collision course, I've yet to decide
is a blessing … or a curse.

You preferred Rubber
and I, the Revolver.
You, ever cryptic
and I, problem solver.

Between us …
so, so many syncronicites.
I … would try my best to be a rock.
You … relished in duplicities.

The essence of these …
born in your youth, a precious defense mechanism.
Still … I always admired your noble quest
for that ever elusive perfectionism.

Two Scarabs, we … both carved from precious stone.
Restless souls, forever seeking shelter.
Roaming through time … reckless … wild ...
our lives, whirling 'round … slippery … helter skelter.

But yours, made of of rubber …
mine, made of steel …
each with our reasons, bounced off of one another …
offering nothing for the other to feel.

I'll watch for you, while saying my prayers …
out there … on the sands.
Maybe next time, with the blessing of Ra, it won't fall away …
like these grains, slipping through our hands.

Two scarabs, we …
on an infinite collision course …
while forever hurtling through the universe.
A blessing that, this time … sad as it is …
somehow, came to feel like a curse.
Ever feel like you have known someone through lifetimes?

— The End —