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The Madman, "Yes, three days, three centuries, three aeons. Strange they would always weigh and measure. It is always a sundial and a pair of scales."

Wednesday, February 4, 2015

(129)

A vortex of living white Light
Rains from the heavens,
Stirring ripples of cataclysmic Renewal
Over a ghostly lake where
Legions of the long-time dead
Bide their time in torment.
The Light fills this lake and everything around
Creating a sea of Silent brightness.

From rotting roots of severed Selfness
A spiral of guilty, greedy grimness rises
Coiling around the hurricane of light,
Strangling its way to the zenith,
And becomes one with the milky haze
That domes the world,
Turning the foggy night into
A cocoon of raging tumult.

Staring into the Abyss of hypnotic gravity
That pulls from the sky and twists space & time,
His upturned face is a picture of
Stoned, serene stillness.
He copiously consumes the light storm,
Standing in its Eye to peer into
The dark distances of the universe
Where souls that have lost their way
Sing songs of lament,
Mourning the immortality of Eternity.

Beyond, he sees the Truth.

Startled into sobriety,
He blinks & spills the sea of serenity
That withdraws into the sky, dissipating,
Giving way to all pervading Darkness
Leaving only guilty greedy grimness
To strangle his psyche &
Choke the Truth to death
When he shuts his eyes.
The corpse floats motionlessly in his mind like falsehood,
Finding its place in the legions
Of long-time-dead, piled up knowledge.
This ghostly lake swells and tries to inhale,
Craving for another drag of the stormy whiteness,
To bring him back to life
So he can journey again to
Where the Truth is still alive,
Beyond & denied.

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