It has been a while since I wrote some kind of a love letter, but until this morning - it feels like a rather ravenous time for such an endeavor, with my mind's spaces shifting their pillars for my routes' calm. All I remember is waking up within a dream space in this Kasie, nearly dead under the stars overshadowed now...yet bemused by the clasp at life all humans of light doeth possess. There were those wondrous sights at dawns of a thirsty bright..., the sun ever creeping unto the underworld at drenched sunsets. I meet faces I will recall in my after faces...when the faces sought in the mud no longer hold. I mean the faces seen through the inner chambers of their bosoms once I have climbed over the seal of the windows cut in their chests.
I imagine those millions of trees aligned by human ingenuity over hills and mountainous terrains – such as in Mpumalanga, such pulchritude un-bound...and yet this same species has their alceric clog holes called cities - as death is the needled stupor it injects the meek with… raping the sanctity of our sole bearer before our leap into the vault of the eternal abyss. In SA yes, they are awakening to the effects of their hedonistic lifestyles on the environment...but, we all know it is too late. Cars are being advertised like they are whores for any stud-minded horse-dick, and the nymphs succumb...mesmeric you'd find them heaving breast-bare over phallic toys emasculated males require for power.
Ok, I know perhaps things are the same everywhere... but…
Please know we are one, for no vision of the inner light can occur otherwise.
I feel am about to die...in another chapter of the revelation of my present condition of evolution.
Darkness always creeps over my sights and awe wrecks havoc with my cranium, yes. I do often wish for death, but death does not accept my proposal. It just leaves me with a hole in my chest…a gaping maw. Is this hole in you too? For how could you fill it up in one scoop of your manure?
Is the dark serpentine of homicidal conditions of our present existence gnawing through the marrows of your virginal bones too?
Lowly Lily of the Vale, To me you tell a useful tale: You say, "Be pretty as you will, Yet modesty is lovelier still."
ReplyDelete- A Little Girl to Her Flowers in Verse.(Gutenberg project)