A faded blue awaits our eyes in the sky, draped in a tattered, worn-out gray veil God’s own clouds scattered haphazardly about.
And the sun pokes its head in uninvited, kisses your face through the window, and nibbles at the purest, most childlike happiness within you...
Your bread runs low, yet your face breaks into a wide, beaming smile.
For "sharing" is greater than anything; just like love, my darling, Just like love...
Oh, laws of gray concrete,
Oh, electrified barbed-wire fences and this prison for innocent creatures,
Do the guards who reap the wheat do whatever they please like the routines of some bad TV series on a planet of hidden complexes...?
Who knows...
A thousand streams of molten lava and a thousand devils, And upon my back, a sealed-off parlor and the snow-white guest-cloth of a massive dining table...
My soul is a forest of red pines, my darling; A hero's dreams and visions camp upon my back.
And Mother,dear Mother,I am sorry;
And the sun pokes its head in uninvited, kisses your face through the window, and nibbles at the purest, most childlike happiness within you...
Your bread runs low, yet your face breaks into a wide, beaming smile.
For "sharing" is greater than anything; just like love, my darling, Just like love...
Oh, laws of gray concrete,
Oh, electrified barbed-wire fences and this prison for innocent creatures,
Do the guards who reap the wheat do whatever they please like the routines of some bad TV series on a planet of hidden complexes...?
Who knows...
A thousand streams of molten lava and a thousand devils, And upon my back, a sealed-off parlor and the snow-white guest-cloth of a massive dining table...
My soul is a forest of red pines, my darling; A hero's dreams and visions camp upon my back.
And Mother,dear Mother,I am sorry;
the more I dig, the more my world upon me becomes soiled.
I carry sinful mud upon my back regretful, still wet...
Yet "goodness" is the scent of a happy Sunday evening in our nostrils, my darling;
I carry sinful mud upon my back regretful, still wet...
Yet "goodness" is the scent of a happy Sunday evening in our nostrils, my darling;
"Goodness" is that sweet, fragrant aroma of happy soap from those warm oceans of childhood, my darling.
"Hope" is a flickering flame a single drop of fire atop a candle poised to die out in our hands and within our darkening hearts...
"Hope" is a flickering flame a single drop of fire atop a candle poised to die out in our hands and within our darkening hearts...
And you, Oh my love,
Oh my *rubedo*,
Oh my *nigredo*,
My mercurial serpent,
My shimmering alchemical castle of glass, oh my palace of eternity...
All these staged skirmishes, these wars devoid of a single green leaf,
All these wretched theatrical displays, these scripts...
We no longer know who is the villain and who the hero, my love...
Who is a dream, and who is reality;
And who yawns in the disrespectful weariness that follows the vows of a thousand lovemakings...
This planet is a circus of dancing, singing primates today;
A courtyard of thieving souls pacing endlessly without walls, and this nine-to-five prison,
Oh, how these humans wring out their sodden sins at night, washing them over and over, then pegging them to iron wires to dry...
Ah, ah.
Ah, ah.
This desert of silence is a hell of thirst, my love;
Whisper into my canteen three times that you love me,
And then, please, water the pitch-black clouds with the droplets of love falling from your lips...
I will share in those healing songs like those of a dandelion drifting on the winds of our breath, filtering through a delicate spiderweb,
Oh my *rubedo*,
Oh my *nigredo*,
My mercurial serpent,
My shimmering alchemical castle of glass, oh my palace of eternity...
All these staged skirmishes, these wars devoid of a single green leaf,
All these wretched theatrical displays, these scripts...
We no longer know who is the villain and who the hero, my love...
Who is a dream, and who is reality;
And who yawns in the disrespectful weariness that follows the vows of a thousand lovemakings...
This planet is a circus of dancing, singing primates today;
A courtyard of thieving souls pacing endlessly without walls, and this nine-to-five prison,
Oh, how these humans wring out their sodden sins at night, washing them over and over, then pegging them to iron wires to dry...
Ah, ah.
Ah, ah.
This desert of silence is a hell of thirst, my love;
Whisper into my canteen three times that you love me,
And then, please, water the pitch-black clouds with the droplets of love falling from your lips...
I will share in those healing songs like those of a dandelion drifting on the winds of our breath, filtering through a delicate spiderweb,
For only then is "living" truly living; only then is dying peaceful and beautiful...
Children and prayers that flee to hide upon my lips.
Ants upon my feet.
And the breed of "fear" is a beautiful bird that went extinct in these lands a century ago...
Its voice no longer lingers in our ears, our hearts, or the palms of our hands...
Do not worry, my love; there is nothing to fear, after all.
God will never let go of our childlike hands within our hearts; Some prophet—wandering with a guitar on his back—will surely wake and save us from that fate.
Do not be afraid; Saints or heroes—it makes no difference, my love.
Let us remain just seventy-two, if need be; Let them—those five thousand devils—pour down upon us ceaselessly like a torrential rain, if they wish...
For "courage" in the heart is a fire that never dies out; It never gets wet, my love...
09:22, and the disciple opened his eyes.
A forest of batteries.
In truth, that hidden forest of the world was a darkness that had never known the light.
Children and prayers that flee to hide upon my lips.
Ants upon my feet.
And the breed of "fear" is a beautiful bird that went extinct in these lands a century ago...
Its voice no longer lingers in our ears, our hearts, or the palms of our hands...
Do not worry, my love; there is nothing to fear, after all.
God will never let go of our childlike hands within our hearts; Some prophet—wandering with a guitar on his back—will surely wake and save us from that fate.
Do not be afraid; Saints or heroes—it makes no difference, my love.
Let us remain just seventy-two, if need be; Let them—those five thousand devils—pour down upon us ceaselessly like a torrential rain, if they wish...
For "courage" in the heart is a fire that never dies out; It never gets wet, my love...
09:22, and the disciple opened his eyes.
A forest of batteries.
In truth, that hidden forest of the world was a darkness that had never known the light.