"hieroglyphic" poems
it's 3:23 in the morning
and I'm awake
because my great great grandchildren
won't let me sleep
my great great grandchildren
ask me in dreams
what did you do while the planet was plundered?
what did you do when the earth was unraveling?
surely you did something
when the seasons started failing?
as the mammals, reptiles, birds were all dying?
did you fill the streets with protest
when democracy was stolen?
what did you do
once
you
knew?
I'm riding home on the Colma train
I've got the voice of the milky way in my dreams
I have teams of scientists
feeding me data daily
and pleading I immediately
turn it into poetry
I want just this consciousness reached
by people in range of secret frequencies
contained in my speech
I am the desirous earth
equidistant to the underworld
and the flesh of the stars
I am everything already lost
the moment the universe turns transparent
and all the light shoots through the cosmos
I use words to instigate silence
I'm a hieroglyphic stairway
in a buried Mayan city
suddenly exposed by a hurricane
a satellite circling earth
finding dinosaur bones
in the Gobi desert
I am telescopes that see back in time
I am the precession of the equinoxes,
the magnetism of the spiraling sea
I'm riding home on the Colma train
with the voice of the milky way in my dreams
I am myths where violets blossom from blood
like dying and rising gods
I'm the boundary of time
soul encountering soul
and tongues of fire
it's 3:23 in the morning
and I can't sleep
because my great great grandchildren
ask me in dreams
what did you do while the earth was unraveling?
I want just this consciousness reached
by people in range of secret frequencies
contained in my speech
©2003
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 6:51 PM UTC
On the white screen dance the stringed dots
Mind spilled codes of hieroglyphic thoughts
Slowly they emerge handholding lines
Not always yielding intended designs.
Something was brewing inside the head
Coaxing to weave and take it ahead
The drunken horses so wildly gallop
There is no leash to make them stop.
Nerves are taut and they won't relax
Till all is vented they reach the ******
It was thus fated the moment it was sown
What's to be grown could never be known.
As the fever wanes arrives the new child
It may be adored or it may be defiled
The canvas is washed clean as in the rain
Something is brewing to be vented again.
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 2:19 AM UTC
my eyes
tongues of desire
a soft gauze
upon drenched red silk
stigmata
a river of marrow
flower of blood
creel of moist honey
hold not yourself apart
I kiss your wound
bell moon
crescent ravine, dark tears
like a spay of stars
arched spine
your raised ****
like scrambled eggs
curves to the heavens
a steep canyon aching
weeps blue darkness
legs wide in souls shadowed grove
tattooed pistols and knives
pierced by my autograph
for every letter, scimitars plunge
jeweled ******** ringed
sweet tarnished petal
gashed mouth; flower de luce
memories that burn
blotted like an eye in ink
to fly winged *******
your face
hieroglyphic of weird
crimson smear; cackle
with feet below hell
wanting to live
like fire in the sky
hot witch riding a broom handle *****
scummed mouth
the world soul destroyed paradise
and your form
hideous kisses
falling red ribbons
i am puddled;
a runny yolk
shameless for your open hollows
Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 12:13 PM UTC
Scraggly curl hair bounces in the air
wagging with whisky eyes breezy pleasing the eclectic electric hectic now mind
like finding a papaya inside an oyster
battery powered like a pomegranate passionfruit flower growing and glowing
around my trinity heart with the noise of a sphere's galactic ******
Crystal Citrine Mountains provide water fountains of sunlight
as so tye-dye t-shirt hip-cat hippos smokin' coconut shisha bathe in barrels
of bourbon.
Lion snakes spit words of worlds hurling nebulous timeline's spiraling
and crashing and splashing baptism ripples together painting Pollack Splatters
with the aroma of Byrd Jazz Jam on rye-whisky bread.
Fractal Berries served by the Far Out Faerrie Ferryman Skeletan with bejeweled emerald eyes
winks while I read in the reeds panting in pan-flutes while water rabbits scamper
into clay enclaves to bathe in pinecone designed sand-tubs.
The hieroglyphic phoenix twists and skip-scats neon green vinyl
turning the wind inside out to x-ray flames of fireworks.
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 8:01 PM UTC
Connecting,
tribes on the cusp--
the lost family...
merging thought patterns
of old & new paradigms
into a geometric shipibo song
singing in moonlit sky,
smoke gray mauve clouds
are painted into the frozen lake background.
We paint
a new paradise--
together
at the table
on a sacred indigo candlelit map map
for people to set sail
on their journey through the seas of skies of their minds
guiding familiar souls
to speak their treasure light again.
We are the Indigo Pilgrims,
soul brothers reunited
after the frozen season thaws,
pushing on toward the place
where mind-flowers commence their bloom
as herb and sage slowly burns throughout the day
as the smoke dotes across the landscape
like dancing hieroglyphic clouds.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 11:38 AM UTC
electric ***** static shocks jump starts the heart into hyperspace pumping blood into the veins of time folding inside and outside and on top of each other like a nebulous star splash comet tail clashes in a warm hug we glow like embers in ashes......
warmth spreads like a slug of whisky in the chest, nothing is expected except it is, mind's eyes multiply like a disco argus tree sees all spheres and dimensions slowing and glowing like aurora auras in dawn smiles like the hieroglyphic clouds we graffiti all over cause we just wanna have some fun!
Aw man, I'm not done. We paint the sky to make it rain good vibrations drinking aqua patience and cheshire cat laughter tartlets I'm ecstatic to be part of this ecosystem with a unjumbled mind flying high in the all-ness of the AUM ONE. Cause we all one, and that's Awe-some. A wonderful warm place with All sons daughters mothers fathers brothers sisters sinners, just humons, 2gether, 1AUM makes words redundant.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 11:16 AM UTC
SHIVA
(Bijoylakshmi Das)
The silence of night scares you
With its eerie thoughts
Ever azar with doors wide open
To give vent to unrestrained dreams,
Never letting you to rise above
The mundane laws of existence.
Do you ever think of SHIVA
The eternal principle of the Sublime?
Sitting alone on the peaks of the Himalayan silence,
Speaking to you in His divine muse-
Of ineffable ecstasy.
The body is not all.
That obeys the physical laws,
The mind is not all.
That listens to odd yearnings.
And the spirit too is not your limit.
You have to go beyond
Far beyond life's petty limitations
To reach Truth, Consciousness and Bliss.
SHIVA, the enlightened.
Which translates human dialects
Into an indefinable divine hieroglyphic.
SHIVA, the Supreme
Creates the Universe,
Rules it too,
Annihilates when Harmony loses its identity.
The universal principle of Love
Gets bewildered in empirical rules of earthly existence,
And Spirit fails to rise above,
SHIVA opens His Third Eye,
In its piercing gaze
All lights fade and
The fugitive human mind finds no sojourn
He warns you.
Arise, awake
To reach your goal
Beyond the earthly ken.
(Bijoylakshmi Das Haridwar)
Jan 13, 2020
Jan 13, 2020 at 7:31 PM UTC
Oxblood lips. A slit in the center. A distraught film. Shattered pieces that mimic her wounds. She cries for sorrow and weeps in the name of agony. Flashback. High voltage. Dawn's dew left a Seoul night in the hands of mischief. He watched her golden legs in his dingy shirt. She danced in a tunnel of head lights. His eyes. Oh, God, his realm of roses. A spectrum so broad- no force could obtain. 70s misfit. Shaggy rugs. A cheap bottle of Merlot. Kaleidoscope kisses. Craved like a hieroglyphic. He was her warrior. Plummeting grains of virtue into a dust oriented cushion...seven dollars and thirty one cents. I saw the light bulb touch the birch-wood floral. I could feel a thick metallic wind roar. Breaking the depths. A rugged man with a festive beard. His cheeks of stained silicone lipstick. He had shipped off his soul. He was a white man with a grip of steel. "Who put cookies in the watering bucket?" A naive response. "A wicked man with a lustful cavity." Erosion.Despair.Angst. Thin braids housed a blooming mind. Paint chips splattered the table top, plastering it. Morning.Good morning to luxury. What a splendid contrast. A lantern lit van took the highway by 65 miles. And all the while he never looked back.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 9:13 AM UTC
I know your name,
But do you know mine.
Everlasting features,
You will have,
Theres beauty in your sings.
You glisten in the dawn of lights.
Catastrophic Atmospheres,
Can only determine real beauty if you unwind.
I watch you from a distance,
At least when I ever I get a chance.
You know my name though,
You just don't know,
My heart for you is on demand.
So do you really know my name.
Secrets tell lies,
By the time it reaches it first recipient,
It already said its first cry.
Nothing underneath or between it,
No blank slates,
But no hieroglyphic signs,
To show you my heart.
My heart races against time,
To take a look upon your face,
Your beauty is only shown,
In the deepest part of memories grace.
I could only see you in my dreams I spew,
Counting down the moment,
When I wake only not to see you.
Do you know my name?
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 3:08 PM UTC
Nails the length of javelins click on countertop
with the speed of a coked-up woodpecker
as this goddess of the night with bullets
of caked foundation sweating from her forehead
awaits her fifth free Long Island of the night.
Safe to say, she's a little high maintenance,
like all treasured centerpieces
of a local museum deserve to be.
She is your generation's Mona Lisa, trust.
Her sneezes will be dissected for coding.
Like the rust on buried Babylonian armor,
she lives sandwiched between myth and reality.
A Frankenstein of queer iconography,
door-knocker earrings designed by Adrian.
Stilts for heels clack on blinking dancefloor,
balancing a hermaphroditic echo
that charges through hieroglyphic binaries
with a four-on-the-floor precision.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 8:20 PM UTC
Red owl Raoul
is black cat jesus, that's me.
She is a buddha *****
cosmic Kali.
WE BOTH
LIKE
PANCAKES!
We be time-benders;
the Moonrise
Kingdom children.
She's the d-flow,
I'm the P-funk.
We both be seein the future
in-synchronistic
copacetically hieroglyphic kaleidoscope jazz time.
Speakin' cayenne magic,
we make love with eye blinks
and smoke kisses.
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 3:36 AM UTC
With lift-off intention I jumped to fly.
I was something like root grounded tree.
Taking flight was so absolutely hard,
though my guru counseled me.
With acquired and studied implements
I tried to cut each holding.
My intellect in truth was rather dull,
though Spirit bolding.
In hieroglyphic's manual page 222
I intuited hints, incantations true.
Here for scheming:
Fly-O Fly-O Fly Fly-O!
I recited that fortissimo for a week
in lucid dreaming.
Then my weighed body, my un-weighed soul
together I suppose remembered it simply,
that God had intimated flight for me
(gratuitously gave).
In classical mind's eye I spied
Icarus sploshing in a wave.
Entered in-- Ab-or-ig-inal Self.
Whoa, I said, hello!
shocked at that showing.
I know... I know... I know...
with ease -- be natural, just be still.
Unequivocally state
(this way make your start)
I need help.
so I believed it
I spoke it
and then I sailed and sailed away
with freedom, my heart.
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 7:05 AM UTC
I am left in the forrest to die, a battered runaway slave, until a swamp mambo saves my life with some herbs and love over time, but I cannot let go of the fact she brought me back from the precipice of death, so for the rest of her breath I serve and protect her with honor and respect.
I am an ancient Chinese nobleman betrothed to a bride for more money and land, except I'd rather spend the time with a common woman because she makes me feel and opens me up, but in the end I choose the power, and to my horror the bride has the woman's family removed from life.
I am a suave satyr, a boisterous and joyous half-goat who prefers the light of night, a rapscallion nymph chaser whose frenzied bacchanalia rife with wild ****** an ecstatic ******* even though a had a penchant for this shapeshifter whose eyes lifted me beyond an echo in time.
As an oracle, I am only beholden to the gods though I don't think the Kings and Queens understand my sister and me. Our feminine bodies flicker and dance in shadows, embers aglow as we flow between each other's souls and worlds to bring words of wisdom through smoke visions and hieroglyphic poems.
I am a Viking, tired and hurt, our ship burns as my ****** body is momentarily buoyed in the frigid watery deep, proud yet ready to sleep until I realize this is my final battle yet won't reach Valhalla as I drown, the freezing drink slowly chokes my veins, the sound fades.
I feel free, a wild dakini gypsy between dimensions and time, with my sisterly crew of hypnotizing pirates making no bones what we want from the clients as our razor sharp bodies and piercing eyes cut through souls so we may outshine each other in stories and diamonds.
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 7:37 PM UTC
I sit and wait, sit and wait,
And watch the ticking clock move to his slow and constant rhythm.
The rest is a blur, the people around me, the pen in my hand, even the hieroglyphic symbols on the blackboard seem to fade into an incomprehensible nothingness...
All I see, all I hear, is that clock.
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
It grows louder and louder until everything is consumed by that mechanical monster.
My ear drums are about to burst, my eyes are watering, I don't want to miss a second.
And as if the church bells are singing my daunting, dreary lesson is complete and as quick as a one-night-stander I collect my things and bolt for the door...
On to brighter horizons
Who needs maths,when you've got English anyways.
I hear we're doing poetry today.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 2:27 AM UTC
I, Kinmgo Kaput, Lord of the Three Grand Lands
that Sink Every Time there is a Flood;
I, Lord of the Queen of The All Basins that Deliver
Rich Harvests and Rice and Lentils and that rules
the Nether Rooms in the Mansions;
I, Pharaoh and Lord of All Kingdoms
that ever existed before my Time on this Wretched Earth;
I, Lord of the Rich Lands and Lord of Wood and Metal
and Lord of a Thousand Such Designations;
I, King, Emperor, Pharaoh, Son of Heaven
and Descended of Stars;
I do solemnly swear and declare
you a Nincompoop for reading this, wasting your time idly
looking at lines not worth the space they inhabit;
You, waster of time reading lines of second-rate verse
rather than feeding the poor
or offering your hours at the House of the Wretched;
You, waster of time reading poems and verse
not worth the alphabet the language inhabits –
You, I declare a Nincompoop
and may you waste your hours in the Underworld
translating the lives of Ants into clay tablets of verse
that disappear after each line you carve;
and may you, nincompoop who wastes such time reading such empty verse,
may you so waste eternity
And thus have I spoken and thus is it recorded on this wall,
the Solemn Words (no laughing or sneering there!)
Of Kinmgo Kaput, Lord of the Three Basins
That have been left Unwashed
by the Queen who lords over Home
Oct 2, 2010
Oct 2, 2010 at 2:57 AM UTC
Analytical minds share symbols like currency, defining the present's possible.
Tip an 8 sideways and infinity tumbles out,
but sadly for us, there is no word for , so it doesn't exist.
Modern idioms can string together only hints of divinity:
A Hebrew Prince raised by Egyptian Pharaohs wrote a book about the I Am.
Our language fails pathetically, scarcely the words for what Moses saw in that burning bush.
We know he saw God, lived to tell in writing.
Grasp the Key for the 6th Angel's Little Scroll, unlocking his original Ancient Hebrew.
Like math, each letter is a picture hieroglyph, and a meaning, and a number.
Add letters together, each word is a painting, and a poem.
One sentence is paragraphs of meaning, on four dizzying levels.
One concise chapter speaks a vertigo of encyclopedic volumes.
First to Analyze the most important hieroglyph in Genesis,
so important, do not pronounce it, so its sacredness will never fade:
At top, the sign of Life, then doubled, and the sign of Intelligible Light between.
So becoming a unique verb; all other verbs derive from this, the Creator.
Then add the sign of potential manifestation, with foundation in eternity.
IHOAH
a verb/noun signifying exactly The-Being-Who-Is-Who-Was-And-Who-Will-Be
A vertical hieroglyph pictorially resembling a Man.
Then:
The letter with the sound of A looks like: , and means the physical manifestation of
A= the physical manifestation of, D= man, A= the physical manifestation of, M= woman.
ADAM, with its root word in red clay.
A noun, collective humanity in physical form resembling spirit. (one meaning)
Vertically hieroglyphic one sees a man; but it is smaller (another meaning)
Adam, a shadow of IHOAH.
Let me explain how Moses reveals DNA....
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 2:14 PM UTC
like benny profane
@ the sailors' grave
boot heels etch
Hieroglyphic cuneiform
on saw dusted floors,
while blobs of mercury
nailed to the bar
drip
down
nauseatingly poetic
accomplishing nothing
proving even less.
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 5:37 PM UTC
A heart deflates
into a circular fire,
burning a tunnel in reality
so a dark train of thought can barrel through.
Hieroglyphic crocodiles swim
into a stream to eat gazelle.
A universe is just the iris
of gods.
I grew up in a cactus hut
that was atop the boogeyman's hat.
'Ol Skullface evaporates like a rippling image
in water...
dreadlocked lightning
bottle sips on the venus flytrap's *******
Maybe I'm the combination of Bob Marley's dope smoke
& Dali's pipe steam.
That right there
was his psychedelic ego
he o rarely sees.
The Native American sound in my brain
reminds me of beautiful cave paintings
in candle lit screams & moans
echoing.
Bamboo lightning
sword frightening shimmers
in the light.
Tribal war paint vicious sharp drumbeats;
fangs ready for battle,
a head bobbing mystic predicts victory
in the shadows;
glowing.
Ashes from the evening smoke means we've won,
thanks to my brain eye.
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC
My desk is scattered with
notes, drafts, prototypes,
of my love letters to the world.
Ugly, thin spider-scrawls
of hieroglyphic ink,
pleading for my future self
to flesh the bone,
of the skeleton in my thoughts.
Beside them, the trusted red wine
to chase down the pressures
of the world, hold them in line.
Each sip, a godsend,
each bottle a promise
that love will never end.
The simple pleasure of a desk;
a confounding beauty,
the collage to your life
and all that preoccupies you.
Your personality is laid before you;
each picture, beer bottle, notebook,
a fragment of yourself.
My desk is scattered in
the loves, hates and frustrations
of my place within this world.
Ugly, thin spider-scrawls
of unintelligible ink,
pleading for some higher power
to flesh the bone,
of the skeleton that is myself.
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 8:59 PM UTC
Inside the network of humanity,
There is a swell increasing,
Bubbling to the surface,
Clawing through sand and gravel,
and mud,
They are the sacred and pummeled hands,
riffling through the cosmos,
By and by making their thirst increase,
For dominance,
For sheer arrogance,
For all things wholesome,
For the coming of reason,
Dipped down by the ever restless,
Drawbacks that pinch their sides.
Then a time will emerge,
The face of the clock,
Shrouded in smoke, fog, and
mirror.
A specter of radiance,
draped in neither human
costume,
or of drawbacks; pinned wings,
Suckling a Dionysian Principle,
relishing the illicit,
and honoring the
perfect existential
burden,
Thus making assured this gift, this
upheaval,
Obsolete, dangerous,
misunderstood,
To the grand choir and,
velvet dungeons,
Slime pouring from an,
everlasting faucet,
His fate is surely carved into the
hieroglyphic walls,
in madness and panic,
swelled a deep tranquility,
The etchings formed poetry,
formed testament,
formed testimonial,
formed remedy in martyrdom,
Others were closed to strange intensities,
Others sat and smoked on their patios,
Watching the worlds collide,
Rattling the great fabric gong,
seizing with pleasure,
omniflourescent fireworks,
of absolute brilliance,
The twinkling dust falling,
flickering as
they fall,
Becoming imagined demons,
sacred omens,
reassurance that things,
derive from all things,
What had been said and done in the past, now is the wall keeping them from taking a look at the real veiled horizon that captivates the ethereal mystery of the child's wonder.
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 2:55 PM UTC
We were once all agog for the journey of life
Now just a mouse click leaves curiosity cured
Nescience masquerading as artificial cognizance is rife
Likes, follows, comments, thoughts and prayers lured
A slayer of ambition gave birth to the lazy
No will to work, no will to think, just click this link
And complain all day about how your life is crazy
Stare at the screen as if forgotten how to blink
Welcome to Medusa's social media inc.
Share every feeling that's on your mind
Arachne's weaving web now interlinks
A Giger painting has become mankind
It's embarrassing
It's depressing
It's caressing
It's inheriting
The natural beauty that lies outside
Left only viewed through filtered photos
Language devolved into hieroglyphic emoji replies
Tobler's ambition left reposed
Curiosity and ambition subdued
A final word
Adieu
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 2:37 PM UTC
You can surely decipher the scratches
On my interior wall, just inside the pile of bones.
There are hieroglyphic reliefs on my brow;
My simian eyes are the windows to my genealogy.
I am refurbished, re-modeled, re-drawn, re-worked;
I am not born again.
Along the hollow trunk, dragged to the bone pile,
Scratches and claw marks attest to the competitions.
On the flip side of the tablet, evidence the wax impressions
Of migrant refugees landing in Hibernia.
Nuclear scan my revealing contours
Of imperishable, ingrained, indelible markings
To unearth former loves,
Parsed and re-read in the morning light,
Not unlike outlines of Mesolithic settlements.
The male landscape is as seismic as the plates beneath the seas,
Where no winds sculpt, no suns scorch, no moons shade:
Only the timeless, steady, relentless currents.
Feb 14, 2019
Feb 14, 2019 at 10:31 AM UTC
***Ah HA!!!
OMMMMM!!!!!
Heart Body Earth!!!
WORD LOVE HA OM!!!!
What ya' took a journey
Through ya' ALL!!!
WORD FOR THE DEAD
PREFER"RE'D THE LIVING!!!
House of the Pharaohs
Picked a few nifty'S
Hieroglyphic Typ"OH's!!
...---...'S
UN"Trickery'S!!!
DaNile Know!!!
IS longer NOT!!
Running backwards!!!
Oh Ya!!
I mean LOVE'ED JA'D!!!!
AGAIN!!!
Hooked Ya!!!
Sunk In!!
Taught Line'S
Loved YA!!!
ALL WAYS!!!
ALWAYS!!!
THEE ESSENCE
RUNNING FREEING
HIS HER'S IS!!!
IS TREES!!!!!
ALL SPIRIT!!!
HUED!!!!!
WITHIN THIS HERE
OR CONSIDERED
OTHER WHERE
THE WAY FARE!!!!
'TIS ALL HERE!!
ALL THERE IS!!!
LOVE LOVES YA!!!
ALL THE WAY TOO!!!
X"MASS KISS'S ALL BLISS'S IN YA!!!
ALL!!
OUT!!!
A'Bout
YA!!!
XXOOXX"S!!!
Lot"S Of RRRR"X"S!!!!
PURRRR
ING"S
KNOWING NOT!!
COMPETITIONS!!!
SKY'IS
WILD"IS
WooING"S!!!
ALL!!!
CREATURES GREAT!!!
SIZED NOT!!
HEARTS!!!
WEIGH NOT!!!!
EMC"Squared"S!!!
HE'SHE"ART"S ALL!!!!
LOVE!!!
O
V
E
!
!
.
.
IS!!!
ALL!!!!
'
M
A WOMB!!!
N O
. O
. M!!!
A / <3'S \
L \BEAT"S/
L Y
! "BEE
! WE I's '
'...OR S
..."D's E
I E A S E A
S S' El N' TERRA
I S E A T Of
S OPsEasy soNg's RING IN!!! A'Gain Sow Sown So Sweetly!!! LOVE METE WE!!!
' KA"S PA RA 'S
S'sOWN"IS"X"X"X"S...---...MA'S IS MASSIVE
AM
A
So WE KA-KNOW'SIS' T
---BLISS"S 'N LOVE I"S T
' S'IS H E Re: H E A R H E R H I M H E RE!!!!!
S T R HESHE'R'X'S
A M BE
KISS KISS KISS B R'OTHER'SO
BE T sIt IN
A'KNEWinN"G"LAND"
N I
N
GONG KA ALLING HA OM!!!!!
SING Go So In
NI O I
GO B' IN NI O
HE 'EL E G G'S GIFT'ING
O I W
O M N A
E G G R
D"S'
...T"EW
LOV'E A
O R
F D"S
F'ER
R E'IS'IS
E
BE IN
ON OUT!!!
RA
NI
Sa Sa Ra!!!!***
Dec 24, 2012
Dec 24, 2012 at 6:04 PM UTC
Who am I?
Born five thousand years ago
with wedge inset in clay,
I am ideas become eternal,
immortal
and divine.
Do you not know me?
The Bringer of Fire,
the Epigrapher of Life?
I turn energy to stone.
It is I,
the Aleph and the Omega.
The hieroglyphic
Holy Spirit
and Keeper of the Lexicon.
I am Scribe.
The writer.
The original alchemist.
Fear me!
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 10:13 PM UTC