XXVII

XXVII

Sunday, November 17, 2013

φάσμα (IΙ)

The light of phantoms arose...
To be both noble and unjust within...
Persuade the ritual of self loathing... 
To think that I had heard a memory of what it use to be like to live...
The moss is frozen over this silent dawn
I read her lips in candlelight
And the rest of the night flew through the window
Looking out at what I may have known.

Give me the tolerance to tolerate my thirst...
This prayer to live and not suffer is more like a pledge to die.
Just not without innocence... 
The air arrives, smoke that follows
Breathe in to inhale through out the body 
What was once blessed and holy 
And with that memory comes strong regret and fear implied. 
Do you feel that energy? 

The relic was false and out of balance came mercy
Only to survive and hold on to that missing piece...
As the dust flows over the words I may have read....
If I had the heart to make them real. 

The light of phantoms arose...
To be both noble and unjust within...
Persuade the ritual of self loathing... 
To think that I had heard a memory of what it use to be like to live...

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