a taste of the extraordinary...
Each passing moment, morning till twilight, my soul has slowly introverting . Decelerating the creative thought process to a dying halt. A heart of spirit and fate, frozen as caverns of incased ice, tainted a light shimmering blue, sparking and pure as the gleam of a lover’s deepest heartfelt tear. If there is ever such a thing.
This tale, nothing more than a history note. A mere pathway to assist other hearts to a fruitful garden, gates streaming endless, and the core of this Eden, a love awaits. A insignificant flame licks at it’s diamond molded glass shell, rekindling and recalling the fragrant dreams and fierce passions, silently awaiting that zealous love to be reborn. A type of love that ignite this flame to reach as high as the heavens, given forth shaded color only known by blossoming roses, at the very first moment of their first bloom.
So with this solace I dab my quill into golden ink once again, to rouse a timid beast from it’s extensive slumber, so that it can paint that midnight sky with jeweled stars, if only for the last time.
Certainly though, beloved ones, we understand this shall never face an ending, as long as this beast’s heart still pulsates and deafening beat.
The exceptional artist is but a simple beast, eternally drunk on beauty of this exotic and trivial world. Yet, locked within this beast is a gentle, overflowing soul, bleeding forth a stream of divine beauty, flowing elegantly to a frail, yet marvelously built heart. A heart, stitched together of lucent dreams and delicate hope. An ordinary heart, though sculpted to be imperishable, and quite capable of marvelously producing nothing but the extraordinary.
This Romantic Age Shall Never Cease, The Poetic Ink Will Never Run Dry.
This tale, nothing more than a history note. A mere pathway to assist other hearts to a fruitful garden, gates streaming endless, and the core of this Eden, a love awaits. A insignificant flame licks at it’s diamond molded glass shell, rekindling and recalling the fragrant dreams and fierce passions, silently awaiting that zealous love to be reborn. A type of love that ignite this flame to reach as high as the heavens, given forth shaded color only known by blossoming roses, at the very first moment of their first bloom.
So with this solace I dab my quill into golden ink once again, to rouse a timid beast from it’s extensive slumber, so that it can paint that midnight sky with jeweled stars, if only for the last time.
Certainly though, beloved ones, we understand this shall never face an ending, as long as this beast’s heart still pulsates and deafening beat.
The exceptional artist is but a simple beast, eternally drunk on beauty of this exotic and trivial world. Yet, locked within this beast is a gentle, overflowing soul, bleeding forth a stream of divine beauty, flowing elegantly to a frail, yet marvelously built heart. A heart, stitched together of lucent dreams and delicate hope. An ordinary heart, though sculpted to be imperishable, and quite capable of marvelously producing nothing but the extraordinary.
This Romantic Age Shall Never Cease, The Poetic Ink Will Never Run Dry.