I have been shadowed alone by all presence of any human being,
The recovery is too far to understand, it's impossible to percieve,
This shift into nothing-ness has shaken the ground below me,
There is emptiness around me, no energy except for my own,
No truth has been inquired, no healing within my mortal soul,
Only slow moving seconds pace across the day as sit all alone,
My mind constantly racing, only with guitar does it stay unknown,
I feel massive energy fields within me, that are searching for release,
Blocked channels of exit, surging inside me does it seek to leave,
But only through writing this poem, does the existence of it decrease,
And only through mending with my guitar, does it find a channel to release.
Brings vast changes upon the dimensions of vivid sights.
For whom is to say that life is stirred in all aspects,
Retained by the foilable human instinct of a rational man
It is definite that a dream of certain presence,
Rings true to the point, that a man is a primitive resource,
With obstructed ways that hinder every thought in a genious mind,
How can ignorance be the bliss, when it results from lack of
understanding? Those who do not want to see, hiding there passion,
From the concept that will set them free,
Bring them to a place of peaceful sanity of the unknown.
Is it so, that quitting the process of development and sculpting,
leads to the lack of enlightenment from those who claim it's presence?
The crafted stone of an artist lackin intricate details of a glowing eye, the
source of all, seen through a portal of the one who has evolved. A script played
out, taken line by line, never worrying about future moments, for he is the one who
creates, the one who is closest to God. The one who truly follows in the footsteps
of the devine, and flows concentrated energy into a marvelous form of structure.
A structure seen by all, completely original, he as the creator.
With red passionate sights invoking the nude,
The flower of innocense giving free love,
Walking blinded but is guided from above.
Source is thus, divining upon what maybe true,
Focus set abroad, trying somehow to construe,
The rose of delight if for you my beloved,
Taken heart, for your sweetness I've dreamed of.