Post by Aish on Apr 27, 2014 3:34:52 GMT -5
v.4
Language
has come & gone
without
sophic discernment
for the fluidity
of her archetype
or
the stain of her touch
she-wolf in pain
but in love
in wine
or poetry
she becomes
a hundred thunder blessed
tongues
smoothing stones
in river beds
yet to be damned
newly hatched moments
in time
have missed the salvo
of rain
turned instead
pixels to temples
hypnagogia learned
a new dialect
oh yes
language has come
and is gone...
she slit our throats
whilst we dreamt
in the bliss
of ignorance
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
v.3
Language has come and gone
without sophic discernment for
the fluidity of her archetype
or the stain of her touch
in pain she could be the wolf, or sphinx
but in love
or wine or poetry
she became a hundred tongues of blessed thunder
smoothing stones in river beds
that had yet to be dammed
newly hatched this moment in time
has missed the salvo of rain
instead it turns pixels into temples
hypnagogia has learned
a new dialect
oh yes language
has come and gone
she slit our throats while we dreamed
in blissful ignorance
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
v.2
Language has come and gone.
Delirious, soliloquies poured out,
though no one understood
the fluidity of her archetype
or the stain of her touch.
In pain she could be the wolf, or sphinx.
But in love,
or wine, or poetry
she became a hundred tongues of blessed thunder
smoothing stones in river beds
that had yet to be dammed.
Newly hatched this moment in time
has missed the salvo of rain;
instead it turns pixels into temples.
Hypnagogia has learned
a new dialect.
Oh yes, language
has come and gone.
She slit our throats while we dreamed
in blissful ignorance.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
v.1
Language has come and gone.
She slipped through our ruins
and flash burned glyphs onto
the wrong side of window panes.
Delirious, soliloquies poured out,
though no one understood
the fluidity of her archetype
or the stain of her touch.
In pain she could be the wolf, or sphinx.
But in love,
or wine, or poetry
she became a hundred tongues of blessed thunder
smoothing stones in river beds
that had yet to be dammed.
Newly hatched this moment in time
has missed the salvo of rain;
instead it turns pixels into temples.
Hypnagogia has learned
a new dialect.
Oh yes, language
has come and gone.
She slit our throats while we dreamed
in blissful ignorance.
Language
has come & gone
without
sophic discernment
for the fluidity
of her archetype
or
the stain of her touch
she-wolf in pain
but in love
in wine
or poetry
she becomes
a hundred thunder blessed
tongues
smoothing stones
in river beds
yet to be damned
newly hatched moments
in time
have missed the salvo
of rain
turned instead
pixels to temples
hypnagogia learned
a new dialect
oh yes
language has come
and is gone...
she slit our throats
whilst we dreamt
in the bliss
of ignorance
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
v.3
Language has come and gone
without sophic discernment for
the fluidity of her archetype
or the stain of her touch
in pain she could be the wolf, or sphinx
but in love
or wine or poetry
she became a hundred tongues of blessed thunder
smoothing stones in river beds
that had yet to be dammed
newly hatched this moment in time
has missed the salvo of rain
instead it turns pixels into temples
hypnagogia has learned
a new dialect
oh yes language
has come and gone
she slit our throats while we dreamed
in blissful ignorance
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
v.2
Language has come and gone.
Delirious, soliloquies poured out,
though no one understood
the fluidity of her archetype
or the stain of her touch.
In pain she could be the wolf, or sphinx.
But in love,
or wine, or poetry
she became a hundred tongues of blessed thunder
smoothing stones in river beds
that had yet to be dammed.
Newly hatched this moment in time
has missed the salvo of rain;
instead it turns pixels into temples.
Hypnagogia has learned
a new dialect.
Oh yes, language
has come and gone.
She slit our throats while we dreamed
in blissful ignorance.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
v.1
Language has come and gone.
She slipped through our ruins
and flash burned glyphs onto
the wrong side of window panes.
Delirious, soliloquies poured out,
though no one understood
the fluidity of her archetype
or the stain of her touch.
In pain she could be the wolf, or sphinx.
But in love,
or wine, or poetry
she became a hundred tongues of blessed thunder
smoothing stones in river beds
that had yet to be dammed.
Newly hatched this moment in time
has missed the salvo of rain;
instead it turns pixels into temples.
Hypnagogia has learned
a new dialect.
Oh yes, language
has come and gone.
She slit our throats while we dreamed
in blissful ignorance.