You’ve reached the crossroad of the zodiac.
North you’ll find spring, summer rains, colonial truths without vitality.
To the east, Catalonia beckons, riddled wonders carved into the half-corroded hillside.
Southern man, knowing what he knows and showing how he goes, falters through without cause but justified by his own masquerading thoughts.
Western philosophies, originality. of which here you’ll find none.
Nothing but recycled mythology, claimed as Genesis through ignorant bliss.
When you start to feel it
Taken over by those beyond
Who say it’ll all be fine
And before you know it
You’ll be back home
Familiar, yet dissimilar
Lost track of what’s known
Signs point away
They’re all here to stay
Without reason to go
A themeless tale to speak of truth
On graceless, hallowed ground
Sauntered still, the ambled will
The past tensed future’s found
Drifting through the mirrored halls
I find myself still here
Harkened dreams or so it seems
The watchmen’s eye to leer
Mirages of a long-lost sea shows solace in the sun
Perpetrated by the sovereign state
So seamless it begun
Will they come?
There is but One
He stands amongst the trees
Natures child, hides its smile
Shown falsely, so too we
Fortune strides, the godless fly
To seek such tales beyond
Throw the flames your kindred soul
Baptised by sacred bond
By virtue of the mythic dove
That glides wingless across the plain
Gravitating to the source of all
The beginning of our shame
To summarise and prophesize
I leave you with such truths
That I and you and we and me
Can ponder on our youths
Though we speak with portend rhymes
Pay heed not to our speech
As if you know, “what’s there to know?”
Such treasonous beliefs.
Inwards I fall and fall and fall perpetual into an empty centre of mirrored illusion
I see reflections of another and look upon and ponder
But ponder and wonder still the stillness of it shakes me
By virtue of the fallen they’ll think of lesser men who’ve reigned
Men and man and I is same and whole the reign does not stretch far enough
But enough to know who knew the lost in times of thoughtless hours
So lost and still the body roams lusting for a life it was promised
Blissful thinking but yet sinking to the depths of the mindless drone
And such a steady drone to ring and rattle through ears and minds so madmen might yield
Falling to their knees to speak of entities who pass judgement without will
Now I wallow and weep on dirty knees and no ones there not anyone I want at least
Leave me with the thoughts of this silent melodic corpse, only the dead know restless sleep
And let me sleep and sleep until time and end so I might yet reach peace
All I seek is a timeless realm where we can dwell until the end
So soft in sleep the body is set free, return to soil rebirth
The earth in which we’re spawned, waiting for our restitution
Beckon born and self so pure and wilted are the doubt
Worries and all the cautions to birth anew
A blossom to be an absolute
Like emerald eyes, the millpond rise
Soft subtle touch and the brow to calm
By word of tongue, by words to come
And heel and heel the ‘I’ succumbed
So too we, the luckless lynched and ghostly
Strung we hang on toes tipped by pointless pressure pushed
As if the suns settle is to bring forth the new age
Rest not on the whim of wandering stars
But rest on the dreams of the shimmered shores to pass
Only for a while least to the wild hungry ocean starts nipping at your feet
Come forth the dawn, come forth to truth
Speak as if the one true prophet of a god who wasn’t there
Paradise awaits you as only you know it so
But paradise’s lost and kings are cruel
Demonic myths from the throne of lost promises.
I seldom had these paradoxical thoughts come to me, though when they did it was usually manifested by my own hypochondriacal way of seeing the world.
This day started much like any other, the same grinding migraine burning through my membrane.
To paint you a picture of what they felt like, can you imagine for a moment, a wax candle and how after a certain period of time the flame has heated the base to a high enough degree that it’ll cause the candle to break apart from its core?
Admittedly, this analogy is nonsensical as I’m comparing my cerebral cortex to an inanimate object, but descriptive writing has never been a strong point of mine and the Sun has only given birth to the day for approximately 27 minutes now, and I’ve seemed to of wasted this time by providing you with an inapt, unnecessary description of how my mind operates at this early hour of the morning.
Anyway, I feel like I have to clarify my earlier musing, I find the concept of paradoxes fascinating, with it being purely a logical exploration of what we as human beings know to be true.
How a seemingly absurd or contradictory statement can be found to be correct when delving deeper into the bottomless caverns of exploratory findings, we call this neuroscience.
Neuroscience, the research of the human brain. How paradoxical it seems that it is in fact the mind researching itself.
This isn’t usually the thought process one would have at 5am, but so it seems, I have been gifted with a mind that is often at its most intuitive in the transition phase between semi-consciousness and enlightenment.
Desolated he stood, with palm empty to match his mind
Selfish feet fall hard on soft sidewalks soaked in night
Secluded by the shadows that watch vigilantly from afar
Weak words wont settle the settled son
Classy cats with crooked hats whisper riddles in his ear
Silver tongues peel back the blinds of bottomless gutter holes
Surrounded by fortunes folly as they falter to and fro
And gather go and go between the children on the street
Dreaming as they wander, as if ignorance was a blessing
Oh praise! Oh praise! What do we see when shivers trick the eye?
Blinded by the past as we’re left to wonder why
What speaks on winds from valley mouths
Language of a tribe where the speechless speak with purpose
Know the voice of age and dust
So sudden does it end, where dawn meets dusk
Bright the field of future gold
Speaks the story of timeless old
New whispers in the wellspring soul
As our spirit leaves this world, worry not, for there are others to fill the role
Deviant masks count slow songs from tapered lips
As if all they know is the script they’re given.