Love is:
The hallowed window,
Through which our heart mirrors
The intrinsic value in our fellow human being
It is the manifestation of the portrait of our heart
And inclination for the perpetuity of mankind
It is the unspoken, discarnate, living treasure in mankind
The unquantifiable, unquenchable innate desire
To enliven humanity
It is the sacred mirror through which our heart
Undervalues the impurity in our fellow human being
Love is:
The unshakable belief and undeniable fate,
That today's fortune,
Is the manifestation of tomorrow's desire for mankind.
Little do I know
my discarnate resume
who will I become
Change is Graceland when
you're close to the edge.
Future memories, wonderous stories,
our tales of tomorrow, yesterday and
today awaken words on living pages.
10 percent emptiness minus the
realities of life--pauses--serves to
endear one's flight into discarnate
realms periodic of physical death to
prime prisms of Guiding Light.
Poignant captures of succulent end
times by planet Earth preferentials,
reveals our tortoise track to
conscious soulfulness.
Unknowing of any capsoul life
formula for existence, I lean heartily
to penitent painted pasts,
custom framed nowness, astro
travel to great beyonds and acute
awareness's of never befores.
The trip to bountiful.
Sunrise, sunset in adjacent systems blends behind
a calm waterfall wake, the hollow unknown man only
minds his altruistic poems of prism alchemy--cleverly
arranging perfect crystal aurora petals against a
color coded ancient star Genesis, forming opulent
halos of Zen emptiness processions--guiding
bright shiny angel wings, keys to soaring paragons of
pellucid, avid, unborn, illusory gray imaginations, like
the savvy, siren Mermaids of Ursa Minora--giving way to
all en-viable spirits on the 4 winds of sagacity as the
4 Horsemen on shadowy compunction ride, reign free
unchecked, under looming celestial cloud layer realms.
Sitting on the high hills of home
feverishly flanked near open valleys of conscious
convergences, he softly speaks to a Promethean blank
bliss, encountering morning light memories, open temporal
templates offering glowing, discarnate, latent,
ascetic desires of a lasting, formless, empty existence.
All strokes dulled carving this hallowed sepulchral vault
A sacrosanct séance mid dolorous shades suffused
Each face vernal, every raiment seducing
While glow the Lamb with hours of agony waning
His aureate glance did then impart redemption
As the vine's fruit and the flesh lay still, there in motion
The passion great that daub the Disciples' grandeur and lust
Lo, souls - these depths prevailing; do not be hushed!
In whose eyes, Leonardo, the discarnate pierce
This boast of glory which leads but to the grave?
Smitten, once, and then again I deign their silent din
May I, 'neath breathless abandon, recite their hymn?
Inspired by Leonardo da Vinci's The Last Supper
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