Still PlightLooking inward for intuitiveness I quietly at night pictured myself still of death clinging to the distance of my mind where inner depth creates everything in my sight Where swings of void are among the deadlineStill Plight
Like a murder of a soul perpetual and yet so short of a non believer
Who is to think? Who is to fear? If the questions of the mind are not answered I am not to rest
my answers are only comfort, nothing else sounds of silent arrangement made by your voice are surreal and deafening to the tone
MonismFor whom should he be told amongst the tides of stray where of the leeriest shadow never peeks above and where ashes burn to bright starsMonism
Where we speak our minds, with out a care to any ears whisper only to ignorance
and never speak of time
For who should he be told then the lessons of the universe
the numbering of stars
and great literature
Speaking of strange talk
threatening great men of mind and royal blood
Where slight falters among mad men Peirce the lips with blisters
and amnesty's grace forgotten &nb
--
~`A thousand cries of man cannot pierce my passion`~
My dreams were all my own; I accounted for them to nobody; They were my refuge when annoyed, my deares pleasure when free. --Mary Shelley
Previous PageNext Page