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Reflections of The Hour

once in the stream of life the ever dwindling time span of things to arrive

forever basking lucidity what wast thou so to be and was thou so unruly

longing for answers written in star thrown sand spiraling circles then to land

in the garden of enchantment where this quest began hanging from a

branch, a can, and walking through the forest lay, through the wooded

what were we talking about then what were we ever talking about it all

seemed so everyday and everyday further away from then into now seems

magical seems introspective seems retrograde to think planets moving

matter make waves in this lonely place and drown out the ever crying face

whom knowest not the way whom knowest nought to play whom knowest

and thou dost know though I question all things I know what I saw, sharpened

blade, miscreate, and in miscreating, levitate, fly away, fall towards something

concrete with meaning or, find thyself in a better mans bitter evening prayers

walking dead roads of death, i wouldn't have a better second guess, spinning

hands, seconds past a second passed minutes dwindle and rack time upon

the studded interpose, vicious envelope, empty of morse-code, spilling from

the black page black blood invoked black minded black eyes see nothing in

the light see nothing more to fear than the wrath of the dead man's two-carded

hand, hold no peace my heart does for thee, nor for peace does my heart beat

silence does my mind entreat, true love's honest epiphany, to speak like a song

does sing, to be in tune with thee, find thyself a winter's fleece beneath the moon

light the wick in shadowed corners of thy most hidden mind and find, nevermore

true, words say a lot but it is the touch that speaks in tongues, it is the love of

listening, and listening is the love of all of time beguiled, he smiles, and knows

not a bitter clock-struck bell toll, hell-hole, everlong the day rolls on, hideous is

the mask of chaos, warp the mind it does to fall, and in which direction, second

guessing, there is no questioning the present, and there is no more than time

no time to waste in the desert landscape, every night is a fight for life in the dream

every dream is a conversation surrounding a slave, and who plays the slave tonight

no slave plays in the garden darlin', slaves hang from the tree of life, and yet still

in which accursed sphere, have you learned your colours dear, and in which path

you walk, and hot it is in hell, burns hotter, melts at the touch it does the one, that

ever leading on and on and on, a symphony of doves, bled white the hands for red

painted mask in the dance of death, dancing round the mistletoe, laughing with

the devil, but the devil never laughs for long, and the devil never plays, thats wrong

right it is the devil's trip the devils skip the record writ in black blood flowing forward

to empty hands, more full the empty promises, more so the empty eyelids of the skull

strung on the web, end to end connected between the branches of the tree, and which

is which in the garden of enchantment, have you been there, have you seen your face

have you seen your paradigm that your thoughts create, have you led the death by

the hand to where your heart is buried, marked so there with a nameless grave, where

the tree has fallen, where the slave was hanged, and over night it is and twas that the tree

fell from the storm, walked the trail twice headlong and lost myself in mirrored reflections

til finding then the place I was just there the dusk before, asleep under the tree i rest as

the spirit then found the etched name in sigiled impress just a moment it was just a night

a dream just a life it was passing like a leaf floats downstream beneath the bridge beyond

the vision of judgement ever weighing the heavy heart on the scales of the serpent kind

ever balanced act of thieves to find thyself with I, sitting pretty in suicide, round the form

the beings stalk, and like the ice laid temple of God, never breaking concentration for a

second, listen up, lost in love shall we, take me be the hand then and never look back and

we shall walk in fire, as God walks with us, and through the desert daring to be so seen, eyes

in focus falling from unsuspecting light beams, just, exploding from the being, just, pouring

from the lips quiver, a violent need for recognition and a jealous heart non-existent break

love, break, and as I give myself to thee, shall thyself be given, in freedom do we proudly

stand to sound off bells and firing guns, whistling fireworks spinning, web spun, strung out

realities worst guest list bummed out with our thumbs out with our feet a'swiggin straight

from the bottles mouth to mouth breathing in and out the stench of breath from tobacco

smoke and the itch barely scratched from the beer, and when we get to the good part then

yes then we'll know, wicked hearts love to be wicked with candle-lighted feasts, forever

just a second away from knowing anything is really happening, outside is devilishly far away

wherefore art thou, mindless, escape, mark the date with an eight eight, but i still couldnt

read it if i tried, there are two ways in the forestry and goddamn when the sun is shining

the light, it lifts the being like angelic choruses rise demon wings to take writing poetry

one there was a man there, who shared his tale with me, one sitting on the stairway then

who glass he gave to eat, and left him there I did for a somewhere we had to be, and the

story he told me of the war afterwards goes something like this, cut feet, broken cheekbone

standing at the door of life naked because he was so told, and up to the roof he goes, and

sitting on the edge of death, thinking of the possibilities, knew at once he could not fly but

if he was there, right then there, so told the olden tale so the story goes and it goes and it

goes then like that sometimes, and sometimes one eye gets lucky, and sometimes we dance

the blood mucky, and sometimes there is light in the darkness from stars ever so far out in

distances glow, somewhere out there in space in another world, another girl, another face

another date another day another night another life another chance just one more written

observation about walking into the nothingness and over the precipice the hand is held and

in the hand nothing, nothing felt, nothing more than wind, moving it is, and forever to be

something to think about, something sometimes i dont know if anything anyone tells me

is the truth and so i work with what i've got, time and stacks of books that read like thoughts

and when the thoughts they drift on, I think about what it was and i think about what it is

and i dont question what i'm told, and i don't like liars, and i know what i have seen and

what i've seen i believe and anyway whats the point in trying to pretend it isnt exactly and

then it lands and then the desert sand falls again at sunset rises in the morning to spring

january sounds lovely to me, evermore excited for the holidays and the falling leaves

as the weather becomes more forgiving, I am thankful for the hell of it all, and i am bitter

at the thought, and when my cat sleeps he is so cute, and we've got them back to balance

again just in case you were wondering, it was a shit show for a minute or so but then

things tend to be that way now and again and it isnt anything you did specifically, actually

thats exactly what it is and there is no escaping, just imagine it is your own mind speaking

to you and it's alot easier to accept, but just know, that's offensive to God and goddamn

I'm looking thin, more hairs on the chinny chin chin, don't judge me when we meet at the

end of time and the beginning of forever with thee, it's been a season and then some

more it's been a whirlwind of a lasting flight, and the reason why I forgot my name is

because, into the sun I direct my vision, floating on the other side of a torturous mind

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