If it were dreamt
by a brilliant mind
it would be, come
divine prophecy.
And genius was one
prophecy away from lunacy,
we would certainly
believe
in the phantasy.
Time,
we would learn
to stretch a point
into a limber line,
into an affinity
of likeness in light.
The expiration
and expectation
of the End, of our race
of the chase, over-
taken by night
led a long, long the way
by our own
four shadows.
We would cry,
caulk our eyes
and think again
of never
the same tomorrow,
while waking
through the day
four saking
the dream, imagining control
over (coming) what may (come)
too tired of trying
to rise again.
Unwound
in the pendulums pause
exhausted
all ready
the urge to be done
with desire
hung over our heads.
It never dawned
Up
on us
We will
Be come
intoxicated
incinerated
in opta-mystic yellow
when the sun doesn't show.
We will
Be come
intoxicated
incinerated
in opta-mystic yellow
when the sun doesn't show.
The divine mind is “…the brilliant darkness of a hidden silence.”-Dionysus
Image from Splendor Solis c. 1582 (Germany), [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.
