All is Holier Than I.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

My soul accepting that if one can truly say he knows himself, that person is ignorant and arrogant, and only knows that of which covers his subconscious, the mask of public definition.
So for once I have accepted myself as the chaotic directional wind we are.
We say there is no truth and say it as though we are right.

The explainable has become of my spirit, it has become one with nature, accepting chaos and requesting it's understanding of my ignorance.
The moon has become still, vision becomes a naked spear and realises its meaning strides broadly, it has become infinite.
When will the sun rise? Await the hours hand to meet with its fate.
This planet has become bound, gagged, rapped and plundered.
Rise and let your will be known, to take, you must give and all are in debt.
Rise my innocence, what is left of your being, help wade through these tides of these endowed faces.
Once the night as rested from sight, we will bask in one another.
Following attempted restoration of the gallowed skies, giving rise and life to dead trees and dead dreams.
The lost are feeling the barracks of darkness quickly and are climbing the horizon to hold your warmth. Once they reach the sun, no soul dares to put dreams to life in its honest melevelant drapery.
The string is bent plucking stars from sky.
Treasure your faith and hopes, lost souls steal the waking meadows of the awaited rise.


Submitted: July 27, 2011

© Copyright 2021 TheDescender. All rights reserved.

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