Remember, child,
do not forget again:
To every raven comes
a reckoning,
and to the maven,
magistrates.
As Guinea hens
oft illustrate in pens,
your wings will wither
slowly from this sin.
And shapes;
Once for
Coalescence,
Once ignition.
Paths
for and before
consequence.
Force of Fusion.
Galactic race
to second place.
Light streams teasing,
shapes
and debates
of meaning.
Those who do not learn history are doomed to pre-heat it.
These;
they fade,
days sorely missed.
Occasions,
pages from an age
pummeled
by the galaxies
and displays of violence.
Arrays like hyacinths.
The darkened stain upon
a solar blaze
lost confidence
in context and
contrast.
Uncomforted
by forces
hiding in
the mass around
your core.
Radiance…
convection —
it’s all the same,
second place
to fusion.
Quoting yourself has come to be known in our industry as ‘laying down orange koans’ because, like roadwork, the result is rarely desirable, and everyone in proximity is left with the vague feeling that we are indirectly financing the inconvenience.
Me (via kholinar)
I’m going to extend this one to self-reblogging. :p
Koyomi – “You—-what kind of person are you?”
Oshino – “Me? Sometimes a mysterious child of the wind, sometimes a mysterious traveler, sometimes a mysterious drifter, sometimes a mysterious bard, sometimes a mysterious high-class vagrant.”
All mysteries.
“Sometimes a female voice’s lowest range.”
“……Sometimes an alto?”
“Sometime I am, sometimes I’m not.”
We regard the
sinking scow —
clouds obscure
her lucky stars.
Now and ever,
taking turns
they pray,
diving they divine,
the dice urge casting
deep.
Hopeless eyes
scry the skies.
Depths to the east and
debts to the West.
The greater lights fall…
as blackened orbs,
and rest…
pockmarked shields,
adorned with stripes,
on battlefields
of blight.
Systole then diastole.
From the inward breath, Aleph, inspiration… to the first utterance, Bereshith, creation.
We take in so we may give.
We receive not for ourselves alone.
The greatest giver is always the most gifted.