Poetry
• Compilations of the Flesh*
I swore I was going to talk about the word "culture" today; but that topic will have to take place another day.
Right now I have the weirdest headache I have ever have. The sensation feels like a seem that runs from my forehead, along the top of my skull, and to the base of my brain. As if, like a book, I soul tear as the stitches, the fabric of my head, and pull open that which comprises my skin.
I went back and added a tag to all the posts I had that had Poems in them. You can read them here. I do not write them for anyone but me, but do not mind sharing them. It is -not- and artsy, poseristic, attempt to be posh, well read, or enlightened. If you can decipher the riddle that is me, then you are a better creature more sought then all the sages of my mind. My poetry is as an abstract vomit of Tass, the colorful bile of creation its self. This has been mulling in my head while I was gone over the Turkey Break.
-----
A plague, a writhing pile of worms, his doubts ate at him
gnawing his intestines and heart alike.
So he did as the men of old, and hedged his doubts in creation its self.
This was not a ceremony that can be witnessed with the eyes of men,
Only felt with the hearts of the Heralds and the Neverborn;
Dreams wrought from Desire, and Hope.
His was not a Ritual of candles, or chanting,
Sacred Geometry or Sigils.
No this power was much stronger, and unbalanced.
To succeed was to insure happiness, to fail was to risk it all.
Gambling his very soul, casting lots with his sanity he prayed to the 10 corners of the universe.
He begged for Divine fire to light his way.
He willed that no Force would separate them.
He asked that they always know one another's Mind.
He requested the distance to seem ever shorter.
He pleaded for Fate to smile upon their union.
He invoked Time to never seem too short.
He wooed that they would never want for the Material, living comfortably.
He humbled himself that Death would come sensibly, in time.
He petitioned that they exist in health together.
He supplicated himself so they may be of one Spirit.
Affixing his will in the tapestry of creation he worked the Ritual,
much like a jeweler sets a precious stone in a ring,
A craft, an art, with precision and delicate finesse.
His mind broken, the soul-stone sparkled a reflection of all his happy thoughts,
And it's surface rippled like the ocean with all his regrets.
This rock, a part of him, was aligned to her stars.
A part of them both, it was now a singularity,
A fundamental truth of creation.
They were invincible, for now...
*If you get the reference lemme know.
I swore I was going to talk about the word "culture" today; but that topic will have to take place another day.
Right now I have the weirdest headache I have ever have. The sensation feels like a seem that runs from my forehead, along the top of my skull, and to the base of my brain. As if, like a book, I soul tear as the stitches, the fabric of my head, and pull open that which comprises my skin.
I went back and added a tag to all the posts I had that had Poems in them. You can read them here. I do not write them for anyone but me, but do not mind sharing them. It is -not- and artsy, poseristic, attempt to be posh, well read, or enlightened. If you can decipher the riddle that is me, then you are a better creature more sought then all the sages of my mind. My poetry is as an abstract vomit of Tass, the colorful bile of creation its self. This has been mulling in my head while I was gone over the Turkey Break.
-----
A plague, a writhing pile of worms, his doubts ate at him
gnawing his intestines and heart alike.
So he did as the men of old, and hedged his doubts in creation its self.
This was not a ceremony that can be witnessed with the eyes of men,
Only felt with the hearts of the Heralds and the Neverborn;
Dreams wrought from Desire, and Hope.
His was not a Ritual of candles, or chanting,
Sacred Geometry or Sigils.
No this power was much stronger, and unbalanced.
To succeed was to insure happiness, to fail was to risk it all.
Gambling his very soul, casting lots with his sanity he prayed to the 10 corners of the universe.
He begged for Divine fire to light his way.
He willed that no Force would separate them.
He asked that they always know one another's Mind.
He requested the distance to seem ever shorter.
He pleaded for Fate to smile upon their union.
He invoked Time to never seem too short.
He wooed that they would never want for the Material, living comfortably.
He humbled himself that Death would come sensibly, in time.
He petitioned that they exist in health together.
He supplicated himself so they may be of one Spirit.
Affixing his will in the tapestry of creation he worked the Ritual,
much like a jeweler sets a precious stone in a ring,
A craft, an art, with precision and delicate finesse.
His mind broken, the soul-stone sparkled a reflection of all his happy thoughts,
And it's surface rippled like the ocean with all his regrets.
This rock, a part of him, was aligned to her stars.
A part of them both, it was now a singularity,
A fundamental truth of creation.
They were invincible, for now...
*If you get the reference lemme know.