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Are These Woods Lincoln Logs

a million and one trails to walk between a million and one pathways, there are two roads

beneath a summer skylit scene crossing vertically all things bring in the light all things in

side the mind find I somewhere settling into time wrought from nothingness with two or

a thousand more hands lift the surface of the face of the mirror spinning the ice laid pond

like a plate at the circus made for the place it was then left it at the second thought and

for a formal introduction just a decade of instructions on how to build the ship wright how

to fasten the knots tied fourth time in the third realm of inconsistent eyelids shift and drone

forest throne chained to the stone remember then there the place where it is remember that

all things moving emptiness creates lovely trees visions masterpiece caught by hands for

sand drifted through all things floating menacing first the bell rings and from the ground lifts

stone by stone out of the blood splattered ground temple round stacked like cards shift

control toward clouds moving past moving passed movement the last symphony was letter

lost to the abyss was it emptiness or was it nothingness was it darkness that gives in was it

that evil bends to the will of men or does nature so to be have shown men forward lead

upon blank sheet paper just torn from the book of theives planning against the dawning

of the light outside the mouth of a forbidden cave deeply hidden in the forestry each tree

grown by hand spiral twist out the twirling fans for eyelids just barely beginning to be open

sesame and as each light beam hits to reflect coloured golden opulence diamonds refract

splinter out the fractalling masses splitting up to find what it is within that has been so to be

lost again to the thrown hand lifted by dove wings with a lettre between the fingertips of a

skeleton hand burning away the miserable forgotten bliss what it was was what it is never

more a revealing trickery never once a devil did believe wrought each stone from a mountain

each mountain's face being erased by what then and where by whom and for time's falling

sand in the realm of calculations deep within the archives inside the library built through

impossible dimensions what was it to this place what was it that was once here again and

one stone lifts to fall and be placed upon one stone fallen that was once lifted and again

cemented inn dimensions of the mind of the spiritual mass times length going for distance

into nothingness nothing more than the abyss of vast emptiness in the realms each eye yes

another light shines, each light shining, yes, another mind within an eye and from each eye

one source of infinite complexity one candle flame sparks the match oft the table leg, yes

it does get away from me it does and wherefore do it go then wherefore wast the blood

spilt on the ancient burial ground before the towered foundation laid before the land was

green was it ever a dead thing wast it ever to be more alive than mind's thoughtless thinking

mind's thinking thoughtless alignment with all things receding into distances falling away

falling into something like rain falls of the honest man's called off work day hours spent at

what for whom and it seems I couldn't catch a break if i wanted two if I thought for a second

all things known to be all things drifting menergrie like petals plucked oft the rose stem for

thorns like building a den out of a home of spiders and succumb to their will the power of

death finds lingering hands to thread silky spider webs to catch the jumping feet of rabbits

whom too quickly find themselves behind trees late for the date art we old boy art we again

where in the hallways gallery each painted diamond brought to a graveyard and placed into

a coffin carved from an anceint tree fallen from the lightning bolt the door where we are

going no man hast ever been to before yet find how is it that it could be built without many

hands knotted up in the strands of frayed rope slaves of the desert taste the fresh wind

up, up you faithfully destrought simpleton up the stairway through the garden far from the

palace of the child king far away a labryinth hast been waiting for spring to allow thee thy

entrance in for what could it be less than a mystery far less a maze for the mind to bleed out

through the tunnels of madnesses drought licking up the lips of sun burned kisses skeleton

men collapse the forest of bones the book of skulls and within the black nothingness of

empty minds wherefore was once to each adorned a diamond all has been so lost all to the

common play of a flute's song, sings itself it does, all to the honest gypsy jig clicking heels

to a bitter dusk of a dying lightless flame all a trick of the hand passed a second past and

time's been dwindling ever so the meridian dancing along the chain of the necklace to reach

a clasp in each frame what once was a face just paint dripping drooling at the salivating idea

mindlessly the dawn rises beneath the damsels dress nothing but foot prints left of the last

grand masquerade every move reads a story of blasphemy grandest display of death defying

menagrey so thou hast arrived just in time and each stone falling crushes one skull longingly

looking at what was once alive yet somewhere safe in the basket of the begger each one

every diamond caught as a tear oft the cheek of the mistresses best couldst go on darling go

down deeper into the hallways glow wherefore wast thou just a moment ago wherefore art

we going, I don't know, I never have once before and before when just a moment ago who I

once was we will never disclose we will read again what was left in the envelope nor what

enlightenment it is you seek illumination in the den of theives round the corner of the cave

playful at the secret hidden by the catch turn the mechanism and is it far past the hour then

who has the time to listen to the song of the begger, not one, who shall, choose againe dear

baskets three divided belief and between them moving serpentine what wast it again darling

better nought than bested turning a revelation for floating sentences like string wrapping up

the corpses up to their eyelids blinking and within the spiders mind what is it thou dost see

turning the hourglass again lifted sand falls beneath a pyramid of light encapsulated within

darkness all painted portraits of the hallways gallery mirror shined white glistening eyes of

the mistresses all a diamond was is all a diamond could be and in every portrait the eyes of

the mistresses bleed it is the red of the den in the caves of the spiders that we use to write

the speech of the serpents skulls it is the red of the glass poured for the time spent in the

well then dost it rise the sun for thee dost it light the wick of the gypsy, you see, this candle

once bought from a begger man sitting cross legged on a lotus in the desert sand drifting by

and by or my apology that isn't right no floating in the garden then back against the wall

climbing down a rope the begger man in beggers rags carries a thatched basket beneath

his arm and a flute tucked into his bloody belt I'd say who is writing this goddamn story any

way we could hear but a bit of the olden song dear boy at the touch of the feet to the sand

laid desert the paradise behind the mind the mind behind the eyes the eyes behind the

white mask in the mirror, you laugh, so dramatic, what is it thou wanted again what is it the

offended hand touches the doorway the doorframe alights the entrance to the room lost

behind fire that burns within irises and two candles one at each end of the table made and

set far against the wall beneath the windows and what is it that you think you are doing here

talking to himself the child king arms swinging legs kicking fighting another shadow as the

candles are blown out exploding for the remembrances of the light like a dream the opening

scene before the lead enter onto the stage a speak to us the soliloque of the dawn compass

wrong how could it be just a moment ago it was pointed straight through the massacre one

more stone lifted and placed atop one more stone set in time one more step in the desert

sand one more movement of the ensemble before the dance ends before we have danced

we have danced o how we shall dance the gypsy prince plotting again thicker than theives

I think nought of what it is nor what it could be, I thought once only of what is it to be I think

and in thinking find thyself a crushed skull for dust blown for a light once bleeding through

the diamond crystal floating to the tune of the beggers flute each note like glass shatters

all is nought to be found again wherefore art thou dear floating hand falling deeper into the

pit of despair twas just a glance just a momentary happening standing with thee in the mirror

once glowing wast thou complexities once fire wast there in thy eyes, lies, hideous monster

where hast it become so a pity to be so lonesome of the cold within the missing brightness

of what was once a ball, o my children, at the table the leg again tapping away for the sugar

cane just dropping the tongue for paint and unto the brush what was it, twas a portrait, my

my my my moreso alive ever for the taste of a sweet morsal longingingly searching for the

mortal demise of a crooked theif you you enemy of the cave who is it that stands here today

in front of the eyes flames into each eye floating golden scripture of the liquid light of fate

you devilry you damned demon you dog you whom thought for a moment you could by I

know by my honest hand you could nought leave if you tried, mistress eyes of the diamond

in *-/ the hand lifted beneath the skirt ah what was it made for if not to be a pleasure thing

more passionate than dramatic the ending somewhere written beneath a falling tree to um

summoning the lightning that night then for the applause I'll wait till it rains again just like it

did back then, just once more, just for the name just for a hand print left acrost the face just

a moment darling and the chains rise from the desert sand and clasps the wrists and also

yes the anklets held within the hand of the master, the flute, and given to the begger traded

in just for a gold coin then, flipped, the sand hast run from the hands spinning, of the sand

turning hours into days and days into night again, darling open the shades, please, allow

was within nothing more and nothing less than the strongest poison collected from the dead

this thyself, allow thee to let the dark within ignite the black flame of the hollow candle what

tears of a thousand black widows. Nothing more and nothing less than one grain of sand

collected once every year from the desert of sin, to the hour then, and never leave a second

of it to fate, for fate is a fickle handed floating thing frightened at the congregated masses

shocking it is the light striking the diamond within the eyes caught suspended in the fourth

realm what is the fifth dimension and wherefore does it stem, roses again, coming up death

coughing, there it is, that chained to me that mystery bleeding through and through all and

everything stops twas just a dream such a dramatist such a blade swinging for the royal plan

arched again the covenant written in blood, few men, fewer eyes in the mind of all that rise

like the first time you ever see love, have you ever in your life known exactly what it is, life

cities laid to waste at the significance of feline prowess, none the less and ever more so

the amount of death tolled the bell more than the living is it to be felled the first tree falls

in the forest of crushed skulls white sands to the hour then caught in a dream forever with

thee unbeknownest by the cave far down stream all things floating disappear emptiness

engulfed with the fires of aires brought in The Temple like water of the clearest rainfall from

clouds whom just opened for the sky and, seeing for the first time, what it is you've known

all along yet somewhere there, I found it again, not only does she remember all of time yet

she remembers being dead, what blasphemy, spoken from words that speak a serpentine

language of blood dripping from fangs melody floating through the dimensions of destiny

and oft running took the vial of poison from the lightless flame bleedining blackness into

widening brains mindless at the thought of darknesses escape from the diamond crushed

in one of the baskets three biting the gold coin the begger laughs watching himself pass

waiting in time watching space rewind before the show begin the mind was found deep in

a cave with ancient slaves of the theives for the dance of music made what couldst thou

know of it what couldst thou believe found wanting at the touch of the mirrored reflection

follow none so couldst be thou to believe thou hast found the entrance torched and wanting

thou none so much a mortal word none couldst want to see into the mind of what could be

that could be that and the darkest emptiness means nothing to the most hidden hand some

where in the desert sand burying the mindless thought that all is in the palm of which one

circling circles round the arms in flailing revolutions the legs in step with feet for nooses and

holding up the conch shell listening to the vast expanse of nothingness just to remember the

wind at the precipice that tasted like a feeling like a feeling that felt inside a mind lost deep

what is it about time wherefore the ending is exactly and once beginning twas torn the page

of the book like dove wings off the spine for dates ancient belief where art we again some

foreign land where the song lifts the lotuses and with the hidden hand, cuts the stem spread

them those wings have you made them from the candles weeping light hand you built them

with broken psalms bleeding from the glass, of tongues, drifting into nothingness speaking

impossible riddling things veiled as mysterious guest of the hallways unending pleasure, for

a hand then, for a round tower built one stone at a time collected from the mountain of an

ancient paradigm like parallel lines drawn and climbed unto the highest imaginary land see

lend me a hand tied tight to wings of dead things for a message from the garden of just one

more name lost to the wayside one more night falls away to the dawns light one more life

thrown to the dogs in the trenches for bones one more knife sharpened by the wheel turned

Once upon a time, a dream entered into the mind of all things living with eyes like diamonds

shined the light through the temples glare from the candle light at the centre of existence

do you see where it is then that darkness round the flame haloed like a golden relique, like

holy ghosts found wanting at the fountain for a reflection for a skipping stone skips across

the surface yet fall it does when the momentum halts the ongoing slaughter of the miserly

sense fields once thought to be exploded by the conscious acceptance of what it is we live

everyday to the minute then and the hour hand and the passing moments of nothingness

hardly ever attached like the spine ripped from the hull of the ship before the waves crashed

before the bottle was finished top it off again before the chains rattled like snakes tails at

the aching body withering atop the stone like flower petals torn and thrown for to make

pretty pictures with as the wind settles it as the blood starts dropping from the frames of

the paintings onto the hardwood floors, it has been a time then hasnt it, it has aged well

this worn in neck hanging at the opposite end of the hallways turn for where we art now

no one knows on each wall few mirrors hang between torch lit portraits of the poets, none

more a set, no more a mortal step within the cave of theives then thee shall find thyself

a victim of the beggers song, each note rings out like a demon screaming into nights

sphere spinning like madnesses lost in the diamonds reflecting light caught between the

earsand deep behind the eyes captivated at the lightless flame flickering away at all things

colourful play like jewels in one of the baskets three switched before the foot was laid and

closed again, call it a mirage, call it a dream, call it what you will for what you will is not so

unknown to be voiceless at the silent mercy of greater minds with empty eyes that lead to

places no man hast lived to see no tongue has told the tale of theives written by immortal

whisperings wicker the basket carried on the shoulder of the begger armed for a rope swing

wherefore all things drop within the mind carried past the break of exsistence into itself to

wish for release pendeluum still motionless before the mechanism kicks in the contraption

from the button pressed beneath the compass sitting on the desk of the child king long

it was I have been waiting to speak long it has been since a word has been spoken for me

long has the tree grown crooked through the soul in spiritual torment just laughing away

at the white mask in the mirror staring into the flame spoken for at the centre of all things

nothing against black setting the curtains lift the dance begins the orchestrae of strings

all motioning at the spider legs controlling the arms of the coiled guests in the pit of one

vicious snake dripping fangs posoinous ideology masking the belief that all for one and

for whom and who so told them to and why then and what for and for what is it that thou

hast entered here come closer to me my dear, my dear, what is it that we do not know and

why is it that we do not care, speak mortal being into the ears of drifting sand like a mirage

in the desert of sin once was a man standing in the hallways glow the light finds a home in

mindless dawn forsaken light what more couldst thou have behind thine eyes another night

another goodbye just one more time my dear, please, for me bask in the lucidity of the on -

slaughter of the nothingness at the vast expanse of life for the dance we play and in paying

due dost playful things arise for you inside the mind behind the eyes dripping from the lips

just a kiss twas it just a moment just for the sake of it against the wall pressed original sleeve

rehearsed for days the soliloque that rises the dead theives like corpses from a grave made

maliciously dug on a most bitter day the weather so horrible cold frigid to the devil's bones

dancing at the menacing laugh laughing to the dusk's falling light held by the hand of the

gypsy king follow me shall thee follow thee the light of ancient days iron wrought time it

was but a chain entangling all things to the stone once brought to the temple dost it hurt

does it sing for me dost the heart ache at the last dying touch of life somewhere within thee

far too deep I bet and further gone than basking in one of the baskets three mindlessly it

escapes me get away from me the begger man back against the nothingness mind not what

it is behind these castled walls think nought of what was once within barely a thought it twas

a promising memory a drifting deja vu a double exposed double take from projected film

upon the slave of the garden with muddy boots, twas just a just a just the expression of a

long lost friend the idea of a connection the concept of introspection that flows outward like

a fountain back you wicked fiend, back you dancing devilry, dance into the night of death

dance at the edge of the precipose at the vast expanse of nothingness that you learn quick

the dagger flips one rotation in slow motion to find eyelids opening in the realm of all seeing

eyes, thank you, goodnight, one more time, one more day unto the light one more rising fall

to crash one more falling leaf to catch one more raindrop that splashed upon the leaf before

the weight was far too heavy and it fell, it did, one time back then the rain falling in front of

the face suspended at the scene twas just a magicians lingering presence walking past the

corner of a street what more couldst thou ask of me what more hideous mask than the white

mask inheritance looking in the mirror of hours for sand looking past the wanted unto the

desirable end burning both wicks for the drip drop it then far down the hallways glow there

is a light at the end of the tunnel but it is the light that creates the shadows that play whom

holds the light in you who bleeds the dawn of the setting sun who shall crack the mystery of

the sky and whom holds nought behind the eyes that create the light holding all within a a a

a diamond spins atop the compass placed on top of the hour glass, steady at the romance

of the most exotic stage mirrored for the light to play with the shadows display like too far

into the hallways glow far past the garden then to the meadow of enchantment once there

was a forest hear hear once the trees rang out like tears wrung from the rags of the begger

before tea was had beneath the vines dripping maddnesses within a drop for a splash and

then it begins to rain the applauding audience caught feet in graves just sinking quickly in

the desert sand all was once a graveyard all for once was a captivating dance of playful eyes

spiders rise at the beckoning call of the aethyr written lonng long ago on an deserted island

before the mind set in before the eyelids opening they were closed back then back then it

was just an idea was it how could we ever tell the difference then you see how it gets away

from me forgetful thing am I forging artworks by my masters design for two hands tied with

rope behind the back and a thousand more just waiting in the distance of a shimmering lay

lays like a mirage along the, playful thing, behind the canopy just shadows then just mindless

it twas just a mistake of the memory drifitng away like french damsels laughing lightly in the

past of drinks spilled for the path laid in the grass back then waving away the entirety of a

month for getting lost wast there no one there to be found then just memories of a motion

just a conversation about an idea that could be how to reveal what it is to whom it was and

moreso than that to repeat oft again better then no better man no mortal couldst begin to

comprehend the dashing play of theivery serious so engulfed in the fires of a lucid history

one couldst begin to burn an inextinguishable flame carried far beyond ancient day one

and two and three baskets sit at the foot of the beggers feet two hands tied behind the

back, for stealing, what was once there in the temple it twas, i swear, was once the same

as I open eyes glaring minds frothing mouths of the barking tongues far too twisted up

it twas just a rope dangling at the edge just a spiraling unforeseen consequence, these

forgetful guardians whom, stepping in time with mindless rhythm, couldst hardly speak

clearly enough the rhyme of the child prince just lost all to the beggers flute then lifted

hands a thousand to one who could have known where we would be unto now barely

the song has begun and, it all falls away, drifting landscapes of the eyeless blind, dark

it is the forest of death, each tree stands as if it sways, each rope hangs as if somewhere

within there deep, there is a weight to the catch at the precipice before the entrance of

the cave opens it must be found that secret flair for stars exploding sparks of misdirection

follow the gypsy king into the home of theives follow then the child prince unto the heap

falling leaves from withering trees at the cold from winds hollow heart, couldst almost

could almost believe for a second then the soul has met the daggers artful throw through

the aires in dimensional spiral seek not the cave seek not the dungeon where the monk

lays seek not the answers to the questions, what it was that was stolen cannot be given

back, what it is that is spoken cannot be retreated, cannot be, it cant, and I wouldnt for

a moment then trust a captive audience whom knows not the way whom knows nought

the playful words speaking for thee just dying for a taste of the complexities that see the

open eyes staring back into the mirror black lifting mirages like incense, levitation, the

begger laughs, mastered it, far beyond that ancient past, way back then before time was

spent the hourglass empties the last grain of sand hits the pyramid and all within the

mind collapses, twas just a dream of the gypsy prince, twas just the thought of the child

king, couldst nought take me from my grave, could thou only be finding the white mask

beneath the flowery bed growing between the empty mass of eyes like a suicide like a

sacrifice the rain falls from the dark clouds bellowing in to await the arrival of the mistress

whom is it that speaks here toady, speak begger, the guardsmen say, slandering the good

name of the hidden theif wrapped in beggers cloth rags depply hiding the stolen diamond

it was but a mystery of better man written for a begger day better than a beggers leg bled

for the hideous dance a soar and a dip and a kick the spurs into the horse that faithful snow

man lost again in the winters freeze dropping the scene like a bad habit that walking thing

it twas over lost mountains for to collect desert sand looking for the red of the sun rising

against the duskless dawn for the dawnless moonrise of the glowing sunlight at the end of

the hallways turn, I told you darling, please, the window shades, how art we to play at the

timeless game of ancient divinity if, the light hits the shining glass and reflecting off all and

every crystal set for the moment of concocted madnesses of the liquid touch of rainbows

spilling their colourful guts over love */ I swear to god this is Elsa's favorite game everytime

i get something going she cuts in shaping the diamond sharpening her claws upon the

light fixed above the pyramid for as I am walking through the forest of death, enchanted

laughing at the nothingness again for just how beautiful life could be for just a breath then

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