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Of Divine Processions

If it is passion, or if it is a muse, if it is a hidden catalyst or just something one must not lose, it drives the metaphor of the heart over the edge of the barren cliff and rests upon its own weight letting the being float on air. A contemporary illusion so fair and so serene that one cannot escape it’s inevitable grandeur of beauty. A melodic rhyme that flows like the blood on the concrete, sweet and sour and red with enthusiasm and power. In her prowess, I deem myself a servant to the Lordship that is my foundation.

I say that I would like a space—a little bit of area to the next dimension; this be for the sole purpose of contemplation of what is and what is not. To live life on an imaginary, immaterialistic plane is to rid thyself of the negative ambiance of life itself. To be under her footing, to follow her steps to precision, this is the way to the entity of bliss.

Adamant Romantica! Ye! With all of our hearts’ joy and praise, we bend to thee—for our fingertips for you to kiss and make free and let be. Let us crumble like hard, rocky bread. Let us fall like water—we are all but well-wishers with little material purpose and much hope for the time that should become our friend. With complete lack of finite mortality, our Aphrodite you remain; from our lips do you receive praise!

And it is with my own breath that I look upon thee, and wonder what shall happen to my liberty. Shall I own to speak to you longer, with my heart full of glee, and shall the green pasture suit my thirst for the pastoral wonder that is instilled within every natural being of my soul? I cannot capture words into ink and ink into words for they seem so distant in translation from one plane to next.

Scattered grams of memories and faith, a melon-dew filled with juices of bait for conspirators such as I! I drank the wine and fell upon the rock, the waves crashing my skin until I broke and lost control. Now I lay, lost and weary, a field’s grain mouse looks at me and wonders how I shall exist another day without feeling the lack of pious wisdom that I refused to undertake.

Crystal clear, oh my crystalline beauty—

A saddened goodbye to the world with a smile so blurry.