"And I shall sigh ever on, crafting such dreams."
Subconscious on Parade 

Someday when we’re older
And our souls and hearts have aged,
And it’s time to settle for a breath or two,
Then I think that I shall marry,
If you’re not otherwise engaged,
For my soul must have a mate that’s just like you.

Just picture it! Some day fate snaps us back together like magnets…

We can have a ceremony
in a blooming forest glen,
And I’ll look like a nymph, and you my knight,
And a friend between us both
Presents the vows that we have penned,
And there’s feasting and there’s dancing through the night.
Our First Christmas will be cozy,
with our very own first tree,
Watching Rudolph as we to the fire tend,
Then Thanksgiving with the family
Yet, most thankful we shall be
That we fell somehow together in the end.

And we’ll be rich in heart, and perhaps in pockets too! And our house will be splendid…

In the back we’ll have a garden
With a lily-laden pool,
And a sandy pit of zen upon the side.
And if you ever can’t be found
When the day is growing cool,
Then I only have to peak outside.
I might find you in a trance
With a rake poised in your hand,
Etching long-lost wisdoms in the sand,
Compatriots with koi,
Finding macrocosmic joy,
And your smile finds me as I find your hand.

And we are both eccentric! Imagine our circadian everyday episodes…

In the event, when I am dusting
our eclectic curio,
an arachnid of  great magnitude should skitter,
And my heart should skip a beat
As I’m searching to and fro,
For a swift means to eliminate the critter
I’d cry, “Darling… please come here!”
And you’d shufflingly appear,
With a peaceful cup-and-card, and without fear.
Then you’d give the thing a chide,
(It should know, it lives outside!)
Then with jaunty wink, announce the coast was clear.

And we mustn’t forget the fascinating nocturnal events…

Yes, on clearer summer nights
We’ll ascend into the hills
With a Riesling, or Cabernet Sauvignon,
I’ll set up my telescope
And only your exclusive skills
Will seduce me from its glass, and to the lawn
There we'll pick a windy peak
And warm our bodies with our breath
With the tantric and supernal acts of youth,
Then in afterglow, conjecture,
What is peace, and what is death?
Enjoying questions ‘Neath the stars all made of truth.

And I shall sigh ever on, crafting such dreams.

But today we two are younger,
And our dreams are simple seeds.
There’s a deal of grand exploring left to do.
So I’ll bury fancied notions,
And forget that my soul needs
To someday have a mate that’s just like you.


Written for my "Season Seven".

Enter thy come and take your place
No blade will forsaken your face
When the moon has bled
The sun has fled

The father shall bleed
While the son shall flee
Stand on and keep thy paste
Stop moving and thoust be erased

Steel, Fire, Ice, Thunder
This sword been built for smoulder
Hands crumble of blisters
Soul full of cleansers

Thy crafted blade made whole
Thy blade legend be in scroll
Blade coated within strychnine
Behold thy master design  

This blade crafted for revenge
Thy uses it for only purifying
No need for revenge
For karma has been healing!

"the disharmonious hum from black holes, crafting his soul, in the gentleful stroll, to e"
Michael W Noland 

In dull radiance he came to be, humbled in the belittle of broken, and dying trees, he gleams, in the darkly unseen seams of beautiful, beautifully, rippling through his being, where even the stars shall sing of dustly dreams, twisting and drifting into the lully, uplifting,  sinking of doubt, as he drown in an endless ocean of sound, precision thoughts, but not, to be gone in his lossless spawn, of the epiphanies sprawled upon his heart,  and from the dead Earth he grew, born anew, in the molten fluid of lucid wounds, strewn about in floating tombs, shattered and scattered upon the planets, as the latter scavenged trinkets of testimonial pull, in the disharmonious hum from black holes, crafting his soul, in the gentleful stroll, to existence.

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