thousand faces of the prophet
'the flow through the ethreal, so surreal is the march through time and space, taking all away from this place, stuck in the infinite matrix of thought, contimplating the meaning of self, and what to do without the same, to be without clear definition, of self reflection, realizing the meaning, meaning to do something about it, shouting to the heavens and hells below to be set free, to have what it all means taken away from me, to see her slip away into the cold embrace of eternity, unmoved and torn apart, years slip past as tears, at a snails pace,shining like diamonds, slip from me, falling for infinity into the abyss of my hatred, wishing for death's sweet embrace, denied by my own hand for that release, no relief for the sinners and the prophets, stuck on this earth for all of time, punishment for my cleverness.' Rex Clay Michael Dayringer 1/22/06