Tuesday, 11 September 2012

Rising fumes against smiling shadows

Rise Rise Rise!
Why is it always this?
Gret sparklins arrive from the floor
And beckon
Whispers, in agrar husks.
Mist, aloft, the mist,
In lingers within large space,
In transparent, different volumes,
Harsh points in great intensity of feelings,
They drift,
Drift among me.
I am never alone.
The coldness intensifies as I relish that statement,
Everything I am familiar with dulls,
As I am pushed hard into a different world,
Fingers around my shoulders,
Scales around my arms and fingers,
And flashes.
Flashes are the things that catch my eyes,
The scythes swinging at my vision,
Cutting me from my understanding of this trance.
Is it not a game I can receive clear,
Nor deliver commuciation,
But just feel that coldness,
Wrap me round,
What if it takes me,
What if I am no longer, myself, found?

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