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"Undiscovered Points of Reference"
WickedJeremy
Posts: 229
Deep inside I feel like the shepherds are going to cover tomorrow
with a dust cloud. What is the color of the robe I am to hope in?
How can I follow the leprechaun to the gold if the rainbow gives no
reflection? Outside you smell shallow, like the sheen of subdued
reflections discovering nowness against a rusty scowl. When is the
volition of the strobe I am to slope from? Could you wallow in
leprosy for the good of the storm clouds living resuscitated? When
we dive into a reason we have justified, understanding becomes
secondary to judgment. It is the image of a face long forgotten that
stains the crown of man. Can a sleeping eagle drown in sunlight if
the sky is too clear for reason? Perhaps. I have to believe in
everything rising between the lines, but old lies keep swirling into
new truths, leaving me bread bloated from leaven's sinful cancer.
It's hard to embrace the mountain's wisdom when the water's salt
draws my feet away from the flavor of the sun. How do crippled
fingers soothe a sickness flipped upside down with inquisition? For
life expires like a fire; like dimly lit wishes left in dirty phone
booths; like conversations flittery through empty space. Patience
takes you only so far. I could hang my fears on a star if stars
weren't myths our doppelgangers had spread about. And I wonder why I
am left here to walk a minefield, questioning each grain of truth my
feet tread down upon. What will be the next implosion of destiny
manifested in dreams better left underneath? Mysteries dispel
themselves while the earth turns into a sideshow act for an audience
blown to smithereens by breezes from a billowing wormhole.
with a dust cloud. What is the color of the robe I am to hope in?
How can I follow the leprechaun to the gold if the rainbow gives no
reflection? Outside you smell shallow, like the sheen of subdued
reflections discovering nowness against a rusty scowl. When is the
volition of the strobe I am to slope from? Could you wallow in
leprosy for the good of the storm clouds living resuscitated? When
we dive into a reason we have justified, understanding becomes
secondary to judgment. It is the image of a face long forgotten that
stains the crown of man. Can a sleeping eagle drown in sunlight if
the sky is too clear for reason? Perhaps. I have to believe in
everything rising between the lines, but old lies keep swirling into
new truths, leaving me bread bloated from leaven's sinful cancer.
It's hard to embrace the mountain's wisdom when the water's salt
draws my feet away from the flavor of the sun. How do crippled
fingers soothe a sickness flipped upside down with inquisition? For
life expires like a fire; like dimly lit wishes left in dirty phone
booths; like conversations flittery through empty space. Patience
takes you only so far. I could hang my fears on a star if stars
weren't myths our doppelgangers had spread about. And I wonder why I
am left here to walk a minefield, questioning each grain of truth my
feet tread down upon. What will be the next implosion of destiny
manifested in dreams better left underneath? Mysteries dispel
themselves while the earth turns into a sideshow act for an audience
blown to smithereens by breezes from a billowing wormhole.
-Jeremy
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