Among The Wall of Man

December 2016

On emerald statosphere, mind clear, I stand

Contemplating, standing still, what holds me dearly

To rout, to allay what catches me, fears me greatly

On sight's crystal clearance comes a void, grand

That glare that had catched me seems to be of no repent

That night that stands idly has apprehended my whole being

That owl oues with greatness, beauty it wishes stealing

With many, the night turns grayer, losing tastes's layers and smells's

Upon midnight prairie, the dream is of fervent might

The solstice has yet to beckon light, but ostracizes me

And the sun has yet to begin awakening, but wishes, wishes only

Upon mignight prairie, confusion comes again to brood incessantly

Comes a joy and sparks a cold, the night grows old

Bears a face of decadence and a scent of dreary silence

Comes to me harrows of souls foreboding and dreading

An eternity of passings

Those mounds of countless sages cannot appeal to my despondency

Over those seas crashing violently on those high levees of my spirit

Of the cycles born of new dawn, closing down on morning's sound

Of birds, freebirds, of the thunder waves that bring the truth to which we're bound

I clash to that unexplicable firmament of the unceasing dreams of colours

Brighter than mine, blue, purple, yellow

Slick, thick soil of life is narrowed down, slowly fading out with hours

Comes down further the gradiant, the shining moon of heresy in belief

Sweeping, the wind sweeping the meadows into the east where sands awaits

Sweeping, the wind sweeping the meadows in great gusts into the west

Into the west where taut mountains of glorious gods are told lieing there

And awaits for the seeking of the mind to be released from that somewhere

Cast upon the black drape over me, witnessing

Are the truths in sparkling deflagrations of times unnumbered

Cast upon the black drape over me, beckoning, calling

Is bright daylight's promises deemed by those wishes

Oh and there are the rainbows slicing it all

Comes flaging it all with prospects of goodness

In spurs of stripes of colourful colours

Like bridges fording thin creeks cleaving the pastures

Mind bespangled with all of those matters

Ladders, hours, time is a luxury and was so all along

The cycle is born once more among those pastures

The cycle in the mind starts off again, you feel all alone

The origin of all of these things we accorded so much value was

but a result of the unexplicably beautiful, of the surging wave in our heart

The silence dropping on those shadowed ranges ceaselessly rising and ebbing

Becomes the only answer for life, for all things that rattles in our soul

The silence is the only thing left for us

And, 'that's it, that's what it is?' you'll ask, your soul dying down

'You can't tell me more, can you?' you'll strive, your hole crying out

'Why? Why?' you'll can't seem to take it, you'll brood the greater that can't be

But everything has been erased, you are left only to look, to smell, to listen

Then, with all that stands around you, you can finally ask why

Then, with your bosom empty, you can finally resonate with life

You realize: 'the silence was not a why, the silence was a why not.'

And among the wall of man you will stand, at last