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Thoughts like clouds,
storming my mind.
lightning and
heavy gushes of the words,
striking against the wall,
of my brain, like blind birds.

Here I stand,
no pen to write with,
no paper to write on.
Words will escape,
by penetrating in my soul.

My fear of losing my words,
stays by the side of my thoughts.
They can come at any time,
will shower like a rain in my mind,
or they can go at any time,
leaving me to think sublime.
Shadowhollow Sep 10
I want to touch you
Run and jump arms open wide

But I’m afraid if I do I’ll fall right through you
Your a fragment of my dreams reflected in a mirror

Your beauty incomprehensible
Dangerous , raw , your the sublime
Too beautiful to touch

So I float atop a dark mirror as your ominous  shadow is cast over my shattered reflection

Stretched out bare
For all to see

Something untouchable
aquis Sep 3
the sublime music
in his head
consumed him
and then made ‘him’

Thoughts after watching ‘Amadeus’ (1984)...

“I am one of those who will go on doing till all doings are at an end.” Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
zen Aug 30
This place is amazing
nothing like anything
Ha! This place is gorgeous!
This place is a palace of some sorts
A mothership,
This place is full of delight and adventure and rainbows
I wouldn't give it up for the world this
Honor, this Creed
clambering continually in calamitous Abyss
Who is it there behind the rainbow curtain,
calling upon my name?
It's important that you leave home
Gary Brocks Aug 27
No buttressed vaulted ceilings here,
or monkish men in robes of cloth,
a space where things are sold and bought
and yet, there is an atmosphere:

A cloistered hush outside of time,
etched in rows of words, wooden,
the self’s restrained demarcation
seeds this scene for the sublime.

“In the beginning was the word”,
nothing before that differentiation,
in the assemblage of imagination,
a whispered restless breath is heard, as

marks on paper command the motion
of eyes and thoughts across a texture
in which silence is a rapture,
the echo of yearning and union.

Copyright © 2003 Gary Brocks
unnamed Aug 23
Subconscious vapors of lucidity whisper into the depths of my soul.  Pleading Pleiades, daughters of Atlas, exhale mythical wisps that wander in the constellations of my mind anointing me and by their
decree I am Divine.
More illusions of grandeur
If I could, still, I would cry
A well of the tears of my Love for you
And taste the acrid waters
Of a depth great enough to soar
Transcending into the Sublime
The Infinite, The Beauty.

But I cannot, anymore.
So I dwell into the Lack, of You
In an emptiness large enough to fill
Each, every and all of the Spaces
Between Here, Now, There, Then
Between You, I, and All...

Between Everywhere, and Everywhen.

Hollow Steve Jul 11
I think I'm letting go.
It drains itself dry and drains itself some more.
I think I've had enough.
What barrier can I create to protect this psyche?
Head like a haunted house.
We're surreal, sublime.
Can't get it out of myself.
And these noises get louder.
We're surreal, sublime
Tell me where the other half lives?
One lives half dead.
The other went missing.
I loved you to death
and the hate lives on.
Gray ghosts haunt these halls.
Charlie Jun 28
I don’t know why i’m reminiscing,
but you remind me of last summer
the sun is gently stroking your roof
while i think of my dark lover

The light blue crumbling facade
gives me the pain of longing
for a home that makes me wonder
if i’ll see another morning

It’s an eerie mystery
why i prefer a thunderstorm
the erratic and the uncanny
over a sacred place of warmth

I want your roof to be blown off,
i want to scream and cry
for i know love needs to be rough
like nature is sublime
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