Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Fade to Gray

To weave
What is woven
Fade to gray.
To speak
The unspoken
Concepts decay.
All judgement
Is broken
In this stillness.
Time ceases
To be a concept
In this interim,
It is.
In this stillness,
It is.
In the gray,
It is.

1 comment:

  1. hope you don't mind to write [or echoing] your texts... things seems [the kind of doppler effect percepction] travels to strange-mystical maze that we tend to cross through space-time of others, and rest over all this pale impressions dreaming, peharps, some comprehension of real impact that each of us can cause around...

    lindsey evening living by ramonlvdiaz

    maybe surrender is also surround and environ entire oceans
    on everybody odd sinus through odysseys and lindsey's cry,
    until seemingly atoll and render a new kind of pure circle
    sans perimeters or frozen future of immaterial all flowers,
    according to n-dimensions which are too lotus and sathivas,
    reaching your blue redshifiting against too many solid walls
    and the same sad weekends that we hasn't heart to broken or
    flow to thermodynamic love.

    so i'don't want any kind of frame that disturb lone lakes
    and same static praisings, decaying personal beauty that
    hide your universal dream upon your tired eyes exhausted
    of meaning all kinds of porcelain that we ascribe without
    any sense of knowing, unblooming your scarlet leaves and
    facing wrong sides with others reverses forgotten among
    ecosystems and catharsis.

    lindsey starling libras to south poles, in quadrilinic sails
    that's your inconclude body on high seas beyond all samsaras
    and seventh signs to unbreak the broken inside too equinoxes
    and glasses to magnify her intimacy with eletromagnetic axis
    and all baryonic mass that flex-reflex her iris and osiris on
    sunken unstable deserts only alignments, colors and emotions
    on same proportion that i could embrace radically Poe's to let
    go all my own remained and innermost scream with no one shout
    seizing the single point of everything.
    maybe one day we can love like you interlace those past springs,
    saying silent words to open this marble,
    and create a society of suspended souls
    upon a time of absolute purification and
    wingless flight of icarus with none down,
    and hoping the third riverside along you
    forever going and undoing your new dawn: "each person passing is a portal to divine."

    [10/30/2012, Paraty - Brazil]