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oh delirium, how much I have grown in-love with thee at this hour near morning twilight all hazy in the brain in deciding whether to see you or to drop my head asleep, accustomed to the bewitching time and longing to see that lingering daylight break, a dreamy state of thus, this moment wondering...
©2005
Brighter than the blinding flares of the sun, shimmering outward with power of thousands of stars
yet comforting
yet soft.
Filled with oceans crashing and wild, turning over ships, rushing under a powerful storm.
yet still
yet calm.
Filled with wonder and curiosity, yearning for the unknown, desperate for enlightenment
yet wise
yet content.
Eyes so wide, so deep, filled with delicate roses, the power of mighty warriors, elegant as Venus's flowing dress, filled with souls of thousands, with passion, with yearning, with desire.
Filled with beauty
Filled with you.
On the edge, took in
Flood created angst and pain;
Enlightenment dawns!
The Dybbuk Jul 16
I don't need anyone anymore.
I am alone, and that is beautiful in ways I don't yet fully understand.
There is something liberating in isolation,
Nobody to watch you live,
or die.
I think I'm realizing slowly that I,
all jokes aside,
Don't need someone to listen to me sing at the stars.
I can be loved again, sure,
But there's no point in loving.
It is no less a waste of time than drugs, sex or music,
Yet it will hurt you more than the others ever could.
Drugs are only evil when they are loved,
Sex is only dangerous when there is too much love,
And music, though it hardly sounds the same, doesn't give a shit, and keeps being breathtaking anyway.
When we live on this earth for too long we grow weary of it.
The miracles of everyday life grow dull in our eyes,
those of bratty children in Eden.
Life is paradise,
Though we stubbornly refuse to believe it.
I think put simply, enlightenment is to know that you have nothing and everything to offer this world. I haven’t figured out how you put into practice, although, I ought to be enlightened before I will.
Do you hear the whistling?
A song they’re whispering
Making lyrics out of thin air
Attuned to a melody of Voltaire

The revolution is coming
The woke are awakening
Do you hear the whistling?
Stirring up the souls of the living
enlightenment in
perceiving one's existence
comes with suffering
of knowing our nothingness—
reason to stop existing.
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