Thursday, July 12, 2012

Stations of Brilliance


Stations of brilliance;
They speak to a corrupted me,
Knee-deep, I wade in divinity,
Tall arches of possibility,
They march,
and they march toward me

They march,
and they march toward me

Climb aboard this ship of disgrace,
As we sail our faces off
until we end this Race,
Until the moon drops in
And hides the graves,
Dug by us in our search for more
Constantly
More
Constantly
More
Constantly
Whored.

We are whored out to this Space,
Where we find our minds
Not so often
where we’d left the keys this morning.
Mourning…
We should all be mourning,
But if this serves as warning:
An embrace of knowledge,
Hugging the air that was there before
And from here on, there, shall forever be
A dawning in which these Stations of Brilliance
Shall come to Me,
It’s a perfection, a selection, made by the mind from a collection of perceptions on the issue at hand, and the issue at hand is the land of God when the I is a He is a She is a Me, when nothing more or nothing less could mean the same, as ‘something so’ and ‘something ‘aint’,
God is not a saint

Because It is in all the faintest

It is the prick of tingle

The fickle finger prickle

Of the senses in Your eyes and Mine
In Our eyes we See, but can also be Blind,
behind,
back and narrow in the alleys of our material minds,
behind,
rewind,
it all goes backwards from there on in,

The only way is in
The only way is in,
You know there is a way and it’s a lonely sin,
But if you drift out there, a lonely raft on a golden ocean of life
You know that it’s a Station of Brilliance that has finally arrived





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