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?

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

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.

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... off the grime.

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.

-Emelit

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

The smoke of my death certificate fades into the ether of the night
It is not my first.
It is not my last.
The beacon amplifies the smoke
It dances in the gleam of the incandescence
To track its path is to count the sands of the Sahara
It waltzes like a paranoid ghost showering upwards
Shimmying like an epileptic schizoid on a carousel
Jostling in an undefined constraint

I'd give my life
To resurrect the love
We once shared
Except it was never there
Only a wild imagination it was
On my part
A fantasy never to become reality.

Nevertheless I held on
Hoping, and praying
That I'd be one day awoken
From a nightlong nightmare
Into the light of day
Yet it seemed to only lengthen
The more I waited.

Being but a mortal being
My hopes dashing
My fears multiplying
Slowly breathing in my fate
Accepting reality as it is
But still hoping, and praying
To arise to the light of day.