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Tobias
Gold Member
| Joined: | Wed Oct 26th, 2005 |
| Location: | Woodridge, Qld, Australia |
| Posts: | 268 |
| Your Age: | 46 - 55 | | Palmistry Skills: | Professional | | Your current mood: | Conspicuously Conspicuous! |
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Posted: Sat Feb 2nd, 2008 02:32 pm |
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Clairsentience is being aware,
Without knowing just 'how' you knew,
But all the time needing to share
The message that comes through to you.
Certainty of knowing you know,
Even when your facts seem awry.
When others can try to show
Your assumption is plainly a lie.
Tobias Ware © 1999 - 2008Last edited on Sat Feb 2nd, 2008 02:33 pm by Tobias
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Light travels faster than sound, which explains why some people appear bright until you hear them speak.
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Samudra
Bronze Member
| Joined: | Mon Jan 29th, 2007 |
| Location: | Victoria, Canada |
| Posts: | 65 |
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Posted: Tue Feb 12th, 2008 06:59 am |
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This is a piece I wrote following my first 'Soul-Stroke' experience
July 2007
Prelude to Night
Every time I witness the sun's set, I feel a small loss. Attribute this to the impending doom each of us unfathomable humans feel written upon our mortal bodies. My skin feels thin, small and close to my bones. I could easily strangle here, tangled in the webs of destiny. I look to the purpling skies.
I'm drowning under the sand that fills my bones as the unknown deals itself out to me. Prophecy; a weary gift. A time-honoured burden to be shifted around. This heaviness… is it mine?
Where is the line between our lives?
A tripwire over diamond mines.
Blurred eyes; they say heat-stroke. I say soul-stroke. Caught in between the thousand grasping hands that I so loquaciously attempt to understand. Unravel the veil for you so that you can see clearly. Eyes shine in near-darkness; call it dusk if you must. I drift between these moonrises, caught in the irises of so many future demises.
Oh that I could see differently… Refuse the heavy gift, shut my mouth and walk away, leave you tangled in your strands. Not to be no not for me not to see to be blind to my prophecy is truly impossibility.
I am born creature bruised and scratched with some skin between. I'm compelled to let show my candle light so that you might join me in the wild mystery, seek thee of the key to the unruly multiverse and realize you had it in your palms all along. The challenge is to hold on to it for more than a second as it squirms back beneath the surface and out of your reach into the vast sea; one of so many bubbles colliding and gliding across the face of time and space.
Dive! Swim! Paddle all night! Find yourself drowning in nameless riddles pelting you like dragonfly wings flitting, skimming the song of spring. Beat them off and keep swimming, hear the waves of consciousness velocity mimicking your voice; sing sweetly child! I long to hear your last refrain.
Listen far below the surface things clicking their legs and feet, reaching for you from beneath. Try not to think, throat open Howl Cry Scream discontent, and sing every time the sun sets.Last edited on Tue Feb 12th, 2008 07:03 am by Samudra
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Samudra
Bronze Member
| Joined: | Mon Jan 29th, 2007 |
| Location: | Victoria, Canada |
| Posts: | 65 |
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Posted: Tue Feb 12th, 2008 07:02 am |
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ah you've found a soft spot in mine heart, dark poet that I am! the hands often surface in my writing...
Blackout: Dec. 2007
My fingers are cold dead things that hang like strangled heads. No glow of life! No beauty can they unfurl... They are frozen, suspended from bitter hands, old and without joy. Their palms are white with a thousand folded incarnations. Written here, this effluvience of brilliancy, kept away in stone.
They are torn, they flex and wail at this defeat. They wait like tortured prisoners beneath the gallows, water dropped upon prostrate foreheads. The rain wears holes in their flesh, see the bones revealed! They rise to escape, groaning of ships at dock; tendons pulling fitfully, lines in the winter storm.
Curse this, my life's water! The sea so full of hidden promise, ripe of love and adventure. Beconing fruit to be eaten, sweet and dripping... So it is said! It is told by every bedside and campfire. To spur you on, tired steed, toward the glory! The inevitable death of the sun. It will happen to each and every fallen soul, twisting under blankets never warm enough, crying mercy to the keeper, praying talons of life release. So the scythe will reap, apples drop to rot unattended, these seasons of pit trap valleys pull.
I will set sail under death's zephyr and dance the joy of peace upon splintered decks. Wait for me there, I'll surely come knocking, fingerbones rasping wood like wasps mouths. I'll whisper you the secret of life! Will you recieve me with distant, jaded ears? Will your skin recoil from the chill of the Otherworld's scripture, writ ice upon hands?
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Tobias
Gold Member
| Joined: | Wed Oct 26th, 2005 |
| Location: | Woodridge, Qld, Australia |
| Posts: | 268 |
| Your Age: | 46 - 55 | | Palmistry Skills: | Professional | | Your current mood: | Conspicuously Conspicuous! |
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Posted: Tue Feb 12th, 2008 02:24 pm |
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I've heard of the country named "Depression"
With black clouds, black trees, and black land.
The mountains are huge and unscalable,
The streams are both brackish and bland.
No glimmer of sunlight can smile there,
A glint of a gem yet unfound,
Removed is all trace of friendship,
Whilst solitude and woe doth abound.
Tobias Ware © 1999 - 2008
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Light travels faster than sound, which explains why some people appear bright until you hear them speak.
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