From the Third Eye

These are the words that write themselves, phrases struck in steel and driven into me, borne of tablature and burning, speaking only of their silence as Atlantis, lost in dark constancy, might re-appear out of the sea knowing, still unknown, yet known to be unseen. There is a cloud upon my brow, a doubt embracing certainty, a synthesis of thought and draught quite rich enough to taste. It augurs death; it augurs why; it smiles and spins away. I smile as well. This unknown knowing leaves a trace to follow...the ellipsis saying this is not the end. It augurs breath a little while, the mind upon an open path, the pristine gift suspended somewhere just beyond our eyes. ~