Without and Within

Even in the dreams, I had to find you. It was never so easy, but adventurous to close my eyes to darkness and lose myself to find you. You see, I talk about dreams because the reality is often not accustomed to my need. It all began on the cyber interaction, one of the social media platform I have lost to my misery. But those interactions only made my conscious mind find interest in you with all stereotypes assembled at its edge. We met and walked. Trees were important to both of us, subconsciously everything settled into the walking patterns. I have heard a few stories about you. You only told me everything, but somehow I still could not fit all the reverberations in the simple sense of love I wanted.

You are my muse. One should never fall in affection with the Muse. One eventually falls in love with the muse. Two different terms and yes, that is why I am conflicted.

I love you. A syntax that I find rather ambiguous now. ‘I’ and ‘love’ have nothing to do with each other more of a natural law. Can I simply say? I make the stars move towards your planet to keep it warm? I can? Because I am a writer. But at the same time, we young minds never truly realise what our metaphor infer.

You would rather be friends and why not, dear muse. I have my dreams.

I wake up, alone.

Apocolypse Hanging from Eden

Apocolypse hangs from the deepest root of the most fruitful tree of Eden called the Verse. Within the verse, the branches pierce into entirely different worlds. The branch that is held on by Apocolypse leads to the world of Humans. God’s favourite* creature, humans.

Apocolypse would admire the human civilization so much for the faith they derive from the world that is unseen. He could almost sense their faith in Eden. Apocolypse being the fruit of the giant Verse, the ultimate reality of all seasons that determine the shaping of many worlds.

When Apocolypse was born, his innocence was driven to the nerves of the Verse and to the ground of palace that held the entire natural enigma. The idea was to let him hang as the mortal hope of humanity. The encapsulation of life into the pigment of Eden was the only immortality and the human world was gifted with Apocolypse, a being that could fall for the faith of men to be complete.

He was born with the first bite of the so-called forbidden fruit. ‘He’ is not a man to undertake a sexual orientation, but the purpose of humankind. It has been a while and humans have grown distant from their own faith.

Rest assured I don’t know. This is where my conscience dies.

In the hollow sphere, near the forehead of each human being, a lake resides inhibiting the music of Eden and the reflection of Apocolypse. People often refer him to God and why not, he is the biggest implication of God’s thought for the humankind.

When you get the currency called time. Invest some faith in yourself, so that Apocolypse can smile and reside. When the currency is all gone, Apocolypse will put your world to sleep and the Verse of God intake the entire universe in its hold.

We shall be one.

*Favourite because of the conscience, the love was always the same for each creature. There are no differences when it comes to the unity of this synchrony called God. Religion themselves grow into the evil instinct thinking that there is any discrimination.

P.S- THE FEATURED IMAGE IS NOT ONE OF MY CLICKS. THIS WAS TAKEN FROM THE MI CAROUSEL. I AM A HUGE FAN OF THIS PICTURE, CREDITS TO THE AMAZING ARTIST AFFILIATED.

Dead Flowers

My eyes are closed and the only thing I sense is nothing. I don’t know what sound shall guide this feeling, but it is happening. In the grave of my mind where the sand is the stillness of this universe. The dark space where I Inhibit within and without.

She would kiss me with flowers. Petals on my dead skin and I don’t know how to tell her this but I think my body has given up years ago. Now that I understand that only my desires lived and not my intent. Might sound all the darker, this space inside my head and I have nothing to say those kisses or the flowers that will eventually die with the fraction of time. I cannot see you anymore because I don’t want to. Yes, I understand that you are practical and none of this makes sense to you. It doesn’t have to make sense to anything at all. Senses are frail weak conscious traps.

I am a young dead man. And these thoughts are surfaced out of the five minutes that my eyes were closed and nothing disturbed. I carefully sensed my death. How in darkest breaths of the space, I would feel these dead flowers touch the earth in all sincerity.

It was never meant to be. Nothing was ever meant to be, but it did happen. Now I don’t really know from where I have the audacity to hurt everyone around me by saying that all of this that we sense is a web and the more we think, the more intense is the trap.

But it won’t be long until the flowers kissing my dead body becomes one with me. That’s what is meant to be. The slow degradation of senses. My dearest fellows might come to feed the dead flowers with some drops of tears, the clouds I mean are fairly dominant to the skies of life. The cries shall help sincerity reach its salvation.

Spiritsights

I have lost myself in the reverie called reality and I need to regain all my spiritual sense. It has been a while since I have extended the limited characters and novels that I started a year ago. Intuition was the fuel to a surreal sense, as silence would pave the way to absolute sound.

In attempts to continue, I interacted with experiences, but the dependency on the experiences have made the silence disappear. With this article, I shall attempt to gain the silence again. I have been addicted to certain activities and that is also adding on to the exploitation of my exhausted spirit. I named this blog, Spiritsights for a reason that I understand now. It has always been intuition.

Lately, I have been dependent on material object and humans to extract muse. But this practice has ruined my artistic calibre to the core and I need to get back.

I shall practice meditation and intuitive flow, whether it makes sense or not, that is not my concern for I am sure very few actually read. For those who read, you shall find an interesting pattern of automatic writing. It is an experiment to revive the Spiritsight.

Sailing Sun

“Do you know how it feels?”

” To be possessed by lust?”

“No, to write a poem.”

“I never lose myself entirely like this, this cannot be good.”

“I barely find myself stable enough. I am always lost, yes, not to that extent. Kissing you is different. To suck the nectar from the life that was left with a little rush of blood.”

“You are crazy.”

“Yes.”

I sat down and she kept standing. I wanted to feel the ground for the first time in my life, she was standing the same way, because she wanted to meet the sky. But I sat down, you see, I knew, that I was at the centre of my universe. Next, to a tree and a girl I love, who I just kissed losing all my senses. How weird it is at times when you cannot explain it all to the closest person there is, how amazing it feels. To be honest, it was really scary as well, to see her stand when the sun was finally setting and it was time for us to sleep. But she never sleeps. She just wants to fly and never to be bound by the arms of faith. That’s why I love her, but I want to hold her.

I love you like a poison loves to kill and at times I cannot help.

“Take a walk. Fly. We shall meet some other day when you like.”

“Yes, alone will be better for both of us.”

“It is an old forest. Please take care”

You know what, Sweetheart?

A band playing,
A night,
And a crowd,
Where I have my hand around your waist as usual,
And we see the little glimmer in each other’s eyes,
A little swift,
Then we kiss,
And as the song ends,
We both know where to begin.
In the car,
Headlights to North,
Hearts to sail forever,
Let’s go to the lake! You said,
I think you would like to drive,
On the passenger seat,
Like Sam to your Dean,
Let’s just be.
It all pacifies me,
Your eyes, and to look at the country side sleep,
What beautiful coarse for you to smile,
As our headlight crashes into the shadows of the night,
The lake you infer was deep within,
The mountains,
The empty roads,
The wind,
Your beautiful hair,
Some colour you blend then,
And I imagine now,
What would it be,
Blue rather than the sound?
We might have our common guitar at the back,
And ofcourse I will sing the lap,
Only to see you grin at those broken lines,
Only to find myself in our lonely time.
In the nights,
When we would be alone,
Like those walks,
We took abroad,
To trees that people would never know,
Dear death surreal life,
How it all restores,
Glimpse of the glimmer in your eyes,
I wonder how I will sleep next to the heart that is mine.

I’ve Found Thee

To the endless ecstacy called life and beyond.

Mystical Midnights

Undying inertia

An unknown dream

Perpetual delusion

Never-ending stream

With no destination

With no deem

I’ve found thee

Found my destination

Discovered my dream

Gleam in the darkness

Beam in the bleak

This is my destination

Conclusion of the deep

The supreme