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Pain_TingYet I saw, just a moment's perception
Of a painting on a wall,
Its eyes were far too real. It saw.
That was Art for me,
But it hurt me Psychically,
Every statue now unfreezed-
Every symphony I See,
My brain. Who was the Artist who said:
”Kill all the artless, they're dead!”
Now I paint my own, you'll feel me in your bones,
& Art will change your Soul,
Such beauty has control...
ProudParensThey chained him to his Stereo,
And turned on his favorite song,
Watch him writhe and scream,
Under the scrutiny of the Wall,
And then they made him fit,
By convincing him love was shit,
And gave him a respectable job,
They dug him an early grave,
Told him he was Welcome,
Made him believe a Shell.
Congratulated his accomplishment
At leaving his imagined Hell,
& later at the Coffee Shop,
While he patiently sipped from his cup,
He thought of how they'd changed him,
& he heaved his stomach up...
14thofTenAs I walk these streets of wonder,
Through the view-sight of my eyes,
In my heart the stronger hunger,
Seeks the Ones that I shall find...
And the tracings of my conscience,
Has soliloquy in smoke,
The fire is burning brighter,
I must take the final smoke...
Some maychance on a rain-day,
Some evening on a train,
Conversations with a whiskey glass,
The invisible Crown of Pain...
Where I find her there is danger,
Where I find her there is bliss,
Enraptured by her amor,
And enchanted by her Kiss...
I cruise avenues in Darkness,
The Shadow-side of Life,
With memories from times of Others,
Inside their view-sight...
This paradox is its Pain,
Do I shout in spells of sadness,
Question sources of my madness,
Look deeper in the blueness of your Soul,
On the way to dreaming,
This crazy life I'm leading,
And the Illusions I am feeding take control,
These delusions are all part of my whole...
An InterludeSomewhere in the Interlude whispers moved over moonswept grounds. Magick maple trees and Ancient Ones that hold the firmament around the Hill.
The original magickal source with its creek and valley and the Mystery of Wandering Cats and the First Grove I spoke too often of.
A place where i've dreamt and other places not visited by me for several moons...yet they still resonate with Power and Enchantment...
Catching greymist traces of November sky, I quietly smile behind the sorrow in my eyes,
and masking Amontillado from the sweetness of my grief,
I turn my collar against the cold and stroll a-way beneath...
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