she borrows the light from the sun
just before it can set,
slipping to the other side of the horizon,
reflecting it in her irises,
covering them in liquid gold.
she's the entity that the pagans prayed to,
the object of countless legends.
she slips into her skin like a hand-sewn dress,
and everyone who ever loved her
is now consumed by the earth.
she picks flowers that took root in their skulls,
wears a crown of white ribs
and grows around their remains like moss.
she's the end of all things,
the silent watcher of time,
meeting the travelers on every single one
of the countless roads.
she borrows the light from the sun
just before it can set,
breaking through the other side of the horizon,
reflecting it in her irises,
standing by as the world around her burns.

The devil glances

at the clock, eternity --


isn't coming along.

Word and thought exist
in their unformed state
within the Aether..
which in itself,
is without beginning  
nor end..

And so it is within that union
into the Perpetual
that words and thought
are metabolized into existence..  i.e.
"Brought out into the light of day" ..
within the working  agreement
of body, mind, soul and spirit..
which in part, is of the finite..
    and in part of the eternal..

Which all,  in itself
places us in commune  with the Aether;
(and all of the spirits  within
that it contains)

And so the circle of inspiration is complete,
      but clearly..
      not only is it without beginning,

          but also..  without end.

It is me tonight

that will need
to find  release
through ******

Find a quiet place
on the edge of
your bed

and join me

What does it mean to be truly free? /
Walk unafraid through the turbulence /
Of a world with so much unknown. /
Know that the principalities in power /
Do not quell, do not pacify the Holy Dove. /

The heartless, the lost, the wayworn, /
We pray they'll find their way /
We beseech divine Aether that all pain be undone. /
A miasma lingers in the atmosphere: /
The sting of death & of mourning. /

Wandering in loss, fugitive these words lay /
In my subconscious; therefore, I look within /
For the sinew, the strength to carry on. /
Life continues for so long as we pilgrimage, we roam, /
The Land of The Living. /

3 "With that I heard a loud voice from the throne say: /
'Look! The tent of God is with mankind, and he will reside with them /
And they will be his people. And God himself will be with them. /
4 And he will wipe out every tear from their eyes and death will /
Be no more, neither will mourning, nor outcry nor pain be anymore. The former things have passed away.'"—Revelation 21: 3, 4 (NWTSE)

What limitless heights we could achieve /
Without the kiss of death, /
Yet a life eternal awaits those who are liege & faithful /
Yes, one without suffering & one without loss; /
Moreover, cause for rejoicing! /

Should I awake upon the morrow /
I will not fear my departure /
For I know that something illimitable, something aeonic, something sempiternal, /
& something far grander awaits: /
—Life eternal. /

This world is moving fast.
One thousand miles per hour.
Quicker around the sun.
Faster around the galaxy,
And fastest into the universe.
No contraction. Just expansion.
We agree, it's infinite in time and space.
Is there a nucleus for BOOM?
Does time go in only one lateral direction?
Was there more than one BANG for the buck?
More than one universe?
Creation isn't an asterick,
Exploding in all directions,
Like the rays of a sun.
Time may have no beginning, no end.
But stories need a beginning, middle and end.
My story does.
The universe doesn't. No story.
Not without a start and an end.
Just a middle, with crises, conflicts and looming decisions.
This is the illusion.

I am clinging to you like a steady rain into my palms,
On my knees, in the damp ground,
Putting my entire soul into the act of
Never dropping our love
Never letting it fall like something that is not treasured
Beyond all measure.

Your touch cascades across my face like
Rain in August, when it is
Still warm, and honest, and true
And we are bathing in a storm that is immeasurably beautiful,
Exceeding words, exceeding all of our attempts to define;
To contain it.

Our love rushes like a torrent of wild rivers to the sea
And we are blind to its source and where
it leads,
So, I am here grasping at water as it seeps through my hands,
Trying to control that which I never can.

I don’t want to lose you.

I don’t want to lose you.

I don’t want to lose you.

These doctors come and go
And the testing was good and did not show the worst
Malignancies,
And if we monitor and test and treat
and treat and monitor and test,
I may never have to watch you
Fight for your life in a
Hospital bed.

And yet, as I sit in each, cold waiting room
I know
There is only so much we can do to break the flow
Of the rain,
When the skies open up and say,
It’s time to go.

Still, I will hit my knees in the flooding ground,
Arms locked tight around your neck,
And I will tell them, firmly, and without end:

No!
No!
No!

.