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The Sword Of Song

that is the blue book turning back time, that is the gold spark turning a black flame inside

out like a ringing in the ears out of the doorway the open closed shutting moment of grey

turning hood shown then the layers of the earth floating like a breaker is jaw for the wood

and round me they move the hand snapping fingers of truth, more true than the common

prayer repeated oft had to the knight, what is it I look at this time, and both hands write

the word in reverse for the fifth seal broken by the soot. WELL i swear it was the sword.

just once repeated turning off the fourth wheel spinning for the light, it is a secret to be

in the cave of theives, one must not speak of the rite, it is the grail of the magi, what it is

to find thyself incomplete holding the square of the moon in the left palm lifted and the

sword held above it like the torch of the statue of liberty, spiraling the stairs made round

for the crown the diadem a spark like sound within from the right ear moving through all

things lucid to the left and back to the right again and to hear it, the match lighting the

diamond flame suspended in the nothingness at the vast expanse of what it is to begin

with nothing and create something from out of the mind the cave from the cave the trees

twas it just by the stream Aiwass, twas it just Ananda, twas it then Alamantrah just to be

the perspective of the mind splitting into reflections of light off the diamonds facets above

the grail and below hands wavering in the emptiness for to find someone, that is to breathe

in the cave the stream it moves like lightning striking beneath the feet of gypsies serpent like

slitheriane minds know nought what time to be truth in reverse and always forward facing

that was the wind just passing by above the precipice, there it was again, the hand, whom

for what, and for when the alignment of thoughts to be written in script, like fire ignites

the words touched by the water, alive, flowing again past all things moving away from me.

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