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Everything Minded Me

all forgetting all forging on the trail it turns the hallways gone and past the trees

of withering souls they walk and walk and onwards go in the ground the subtle hue

the orange leaf the context removed the meaning vast the ocean thin the shattered

glass the hollow lense whereforeto have the under throws whirlpools pull and thunders

move the heavens by the cracked whip the lightning flares the sun smitten with the

open aires the fresh remorse relinquish thy evermore present doubt and follow into

a forest of burning fire the flaming trees all spinning all glistening all burning belief

and it is as if each and every leaf one at a time ignites by consciousness in flight yet

unto the masked floating being whom beckons onwards to follow the beast with one

thousand feet crawling on the forest floor along the trail through the dirt and ever

twisting branches turn to war torn guns and blasting cannons and flags unfurl to greater

aires that the wind shall flair and the ships sail to and from the desert the masked being

ever walking ever sitting ever moving in various ways to forever become and in becoming

forever stays hopeless in the quick wishes they are flickering flames upon the candles wick

they burn up and they in visions ferocious grip pull into oceans revelry and master's book

the wooden key burns inside the hollow tree there is no key there is no lock there is no

door at the end of the hall there is a mirror and in the mask the mirrored face the full

collapse the tipped cup the pouring nameless emotionless face pouring through the

diamond caught in the centre of the hour glass and the sand it builds and builds and

settles then the time it stops the feathered pen dipping once more into the abyss the

blackest night the darkest kiss the blood it makes the skull exist and in the hollow eyelids

the crown through both the space and time the jawbone slack the mind defined we fall

to lift and lift the wings the feathered bones the lucid singing voice o nightengale o bird

sing unto me lift the broken spinal column that leans and leans upon the signed post the

cursive name the retreating ghost ever the spirit of chaos within and breaks the form to

better functioning systemic release promised tongues, be thy wife to me, and find thyself

shall thee, shall find me, and my heart it groans in ancient soliloquies, the sun beams take

to spearing every third eye in every face that walks on into the modern day and looks and

laughs and vicious wrath to tear the proper dress to pretend, to dance the wicked fiend

the crown locked behind the crossed door, St. Peter couldst only be one to agree the spiders

they web and when they web they seek to catch the offensive twisted hand reaching ever

unto the falling tree to lift the weight before it breaks again and floats headlong into long

ago lands that fortress thy memorie and guard the hidden perspective of the time we spent

the honour of love and when shall thy secret door unlock the wooden key the remembered

shoppe the shape of thy dress the look on thy mask the ever prevalent distance of the past

ever retreating into further shores the ship it rattles the land it roars and the desert sand lifts

in various ways creating sparkling flying shooting satyrs the arrows tear through the fog to

strike the bone and beat the drum, to lift the feet in congregation, the symphony of doves

to slaughter form, and furthermore, there is a place I know where love is hidden deep inside

the most honest procession takes to circling the temple again to clear the land and open the

head allowing all knowing all loving all conscious throws of light-beams down from heaven

to earth to ignite the soul and lift the winged sphere, resurrection must lie, within thee, wife

i find the stream calming, i find the forest, burning, i find the reason and respond, to find

thee in the desert, walk, and in walking round the corpse, the mask death wears the sitting

motionless observation the starred sky the revelation what further dost thy spirit want and

whereforeunto does thou lead, the spirit of mischief the soul of Prometheus, chained unto

the stone, and how does it explain the shape of the key without revealing the secret of all

to believe that love exists, to believe, between you and me, there are no chains upon my

arms there is no stone Prometheus lays on, split and spread open to the melancholic stare

the heavens above rain down and fill the silence with the known, a greater wish is written

on the devil's throne, do what thou wilt, and forever more the spike driven through the

seat, in the desert land the desert hands are tired, tied to the ship, being pulled by a spirit

whom has lost his soul, whom has no further goals if all of history shall end without remorse

if god shall not give freedom to the horse whom in the burning forest does run free and

when the stars align and when the light of the moon shines down upon the beast deep into

the eyes that have forever lost the place where earth makes men into better husbands shall

thee stand and next to I shall thee walk and in my hand thy hand shall we talk about it the

future, at the sight a million wants, at the instant of reconciled hearts, a feast for love

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