Friday, May 18, 2012

tetragrammaton

cometh hither, and listen. as i write thee, an act in a play of a scene. this dramatis personae shall be thee, as dubbed a miracle marvel no one but one have seen. paint this picture delicate in thou'st mind. lunacy in turmoil in the midst of the malevolent sea. misery shall be i, where false delusion made home in the corners of this heart. a young heart in an old shell of a man. i beget the wheel that preludes mine demise. a dilemma dictated by decision and derision from the corrosive minds of the neglected. i have stood at the girth and the length of consequence, but never have one encountered so many evils. i could only smile at the landscape and the horizon that laughs at my expense.

the world is mine worry, thou see?

the world make not, nothing but anything to everything that is me. i owe mine existence to the epiphany of revealing truths behind sealed lips and punctured eyes. i have seen thee see this, be true. but not as i have, but as only thou could do. i shiver at the thought, i spite the act. the play, the brilliant idea to one's downfall. the abyss that makes bliss as ignorance made this beggar of a man. the concoction in the vast cauldron of fate is many but only one makes thee and i. it is the lost listless last drop of hope.

could this be our last encounter?

in between dreams and reality. where sleep is the deep but narrow revelations of our existence. we could only breathe and receive our lessons without learning the truth. truth hurts but the very least, we shall have closure. at this juncture, i have bed the only reason to live. i have made the surgical incision, the suture for the future. for the very end is mine demise and the premise is this heart of mine.

my cage still beats like the waves of the sea, but my thoughts signals free. like light through dark, the smallest flicker still seen. even a small puncture could be the brightest flame. a sort of hue, made by the colors that made us. the details of our surrender is not inked on stone, but written on lips and heard by sight. if only, this i could see as if how thou see the dismembered and severed ties for eternity. further does make forever, but the horizon brings the classic novelty where we shall look upon in days of old. with our weary eyes we will pierce every veil and see the beauty that is within and capture the shadowy figures, while we laugh at whom we once knew ourselves to be.

have thou listened any closer?

as this epic might be whispers now, but it will ring loud like battle horns and buried deep like defeated foes.

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