Crs01 - EpiphanyForeword
The world around us, its people. They are very much focused on the intake of information, of knowledge. Knowledge, be it that they bear the wisdom to misuse it or otherwise. It is most interesting. Nonetheless, imagine, for a moment. Imagine that the world and its people grew to this day not dwelling primarily upon curiosity, on knowledge of the world around us; on what we can give to the mind. But rather, on the power of the mind, on the mysteries of self. On what the mind can do. What it can be.
The third wave approached, sending forth a quiet blanket of water to carry a third distribution of sand between his malnourished yet strangely kempt looking toes. He knelt down to reach for a particular sparkle the sun had delivered to him, but slightly before a fourth attack, his balance gave way to a ray of dizziness that had caught him off guard. He fell forwards but witnessed no collision. Instead, a Grecian column found him leaning
The river never stops unless you look for where it ends.
Nor will the raindrops meet your face, if face you what transcends.
The snow is cold, yet cold because, your eyes and tongue portray.
The world would say how you would be; save be it, as you say.
Ode to the skiesAn ode to every living god who'd grant me but one wish,
To every sky and star and tree and gust of wind who'd drift;
Who'd drift between my lookout, my spirit and my eyes.
Who'd grant for nought my greatest thought and oft elusive prize.
The light of stars for guidance,
And gust for gusto's worth.
The silhouettes of endless oaks
And skies to bring us mirth.
Bliss within the darkness.
Dreams within the night.
My mind within an endless dream,
Of souls, who bring the light.
Starry NightStarry Night
A story lives inside me,
Yet I can't find the words.
I cannot find the place within, that's
Longing to be heard.
I stare down to a starry night,
And feed my mind with scores that
Would the waking pass; musical staff,
Scores to make the mournful laugh.
Stars and musical stories soar, yet soar out of my reach.
Perhaps another day shall dawn and bring my mind to each.
A story lives inside me.
And I.. shall find the words.
Song of This WorldSong of This World
O enigmatic dreamworld,
I long to comprehend.
To understand nocturnal skies that all worlds see as home.
Beyond my theories, stories told; to know as all should know.
Why death, perhaps be fearful.
Why songs of this world lift me.
Why my mind must be limited to cold, lawful reason.
Why I see so much to begin.
Why must I comprehend?
A dreamworld sleeps, the other weeps,
And goals have reached their end.
Please tell me.
Old FriendsOld Friends
An old, very old, dusty playground.
Filled with echoes. Filled with laughter, long since gone.
Just a swing.
And a slide.
And a tear and a million thoughts, from an old friend, on a bench.
But, he never saw, was better off.
Was better just, to wonder where, his old friends went.
In an old, very old, dusty playground.
It's not here, friend.. you belong.