To see, farther than the furthest ray, to be that ray, to consume eternity imparting
unto yourself, knowing. What is, is and what will can be! O breath of lords which
curtails me. The prince was born in shadow, knowing everything though forgotten,
just as every man, who can claim to remember. We all, living in the caves of
conscious creation, request from the silent walls, a picture, a sound, that can clear
the debris yet also cage the free.
To upset vigilance is to invite conquest. We, the joyful apes who play their
instruments wrought from a fathers bones and a mothers hair, how blind it is, the
eye that says it sees. I, of even a whimpering sort, have ascended mountains and
entertained the temple. Who among ye has thrown a stone, and which among us has
caught the sun in our minds. The river flows both ways these days, this age, but
another rung on the ladder of learned mastery. The evolution agency, the builders
of culture, the captains of memetic requisite.
To breathe information, to exhale ethos. To snare concern and to conceive contempt
is to illuse one's own sovereignty. Thinking the thoughts of others without minding
our own? How derisive the complex is, as utopia means "no where", so will freedom
be forgotten and dreamt of. The innate languages silenced to allow the static to rise,
consuming the woven tapestry of the individual mass.
Fed poison slowly, the body will acclimate. Truth becomes detested as the lie
remains savory. What men have lost their blood for, trampled into paste that seals
the cracks within our cage. O Ye! There it is! In every moment, therein lies eternity.
O yea, the beauty of the colored sands of sound. To forget that we can and will, is
the message of our speakers.
As magnets rotate, so the poles of our consentience waver. What is likeable, soon
changes in the vapors of occurrence, every idea fleeting, changing, yet soon
returning as emissary of the antecessor. We are allowed because we all owe. We
must toil for bread or command others to build our thrones, as has been done
through the ages.
Kings born children, who drool, stumble, and slumber. So we all are. To turn into
oneself, focus the lens of incumbent being inwards, is to precede the antedated, to
breath the air of the ancients, and to drink of the water alive.
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Beauty in some of the words ,but obtuseness and cleverness?
Reveal in the sun behind a cloud shroud.
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reply to post by Dr Conspire
Thanks for reading it man. Wrote it after one of those disgusting truth excavations. Pulled up something from the pits of the net and it got me into
one of thosew moods, you know?
peace.
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