asklepiades (asklepiades) wrote,
asklepiades
asklepiades

  • Mood:
  • Music:

Exposition Inquisition

One day soon all the world will be online, and then anyone will be able to access and part of the sum of human knowledge at any given point in time.
When that occurs, there will no longer be any individuality, no more time, no more darkness.

what good are the earth works that come closer to the mind in which nothing at all ever and then you had it all you had it all all but never no there it was not there somewhere not where i am was are will not be not be around here in which cats cant crawl what is it you i it is is not somethings looking for me but i dont really understand why i am not i am not not you fifty hundred thousand and then the candles will no longer light themselves there are little birds on the windowsill that my dad built when i was just s son of my parents never been a son of my parents again you bring that hammer down like a part of it all the part of it all that you never were because i never looked at you never looked at me we could always never hear the sounds of the forest falling twisting tilting so that everything stayed so parallel except for you and i you know i never used to do that river fountain springing fears into new life like a factory like a smoke puff cloud of upset particles in the sunlight in the dark light in the i do not know you anymore light but that was then and then it is noe is then now are you still alive within me even after all this time i have tried to kill you cleanse you from my blood my blood my blood my your lovely blood flowing out once again never but always a final time that final time this final time our nect final time final encounter with a metal god you never knew despite myself and when i could not tell you everything i gave my voice up for good for a final time always but here you are again here you are in my arms again and i never thought of what i would say never thought i would get to say can not bring myself to say even after all this time time spent in the middle of the wind always winding winding winding up and down around and around dusty blankets to cover my cage at night never gave me words to sing and thus i did not i used to sit there in my very own silence silence that i created that i sang i used to sit there and write my aguries of your demise you never saw the bitterness because it was your oversight that was its food growing and learing callousing and deforming what could only have already been deformed you knoe there never was a day never was a moment in which i could recall your face except for every one of them and i never knew a time in which i loved you except for every time i ever knew and it is in that was in that manner that you dried my tears in that manner that i cried and in that manner that i will always cry you never really saw all the bitter things within my soul and it used to kill me that they were there but now not so much so not so much so in fact and i can not help but wonder how much of that was my own doing it is the rainy days i remember most remember best can always feel the way you touched me when i was at my weakest at His best in every dirty droplet i feel your skin against my spine this is the only lighting in my soul and that is the way it should always be i am so hollow and you are so hollow and i am so cold and you are so cold it used to just amaze me the way that two nothings could make a whole but now more so i fail to recall the meaning of a footprint and i do not think i ever knew the passage of the years only silence and warmth only slience and the cold dirty rain upon a face your face my face our bodies body me you us rain rain rain dark and the closing of the doors lighting of the flames lighing of ours and turning on the dark publishing ourselves in the night and in the annals of the dark who understands the needs who really realizes what can be done and what can still be done no matte rhow one looks at it it might matter it might be important it really is important and the sun rises again because that is what the sun does not do it rises upon the leaves and the vines and the brown and on the green you can see vines recede on the forest floor but that is only because they are not ready they are not afraid any more than you or i why should thing happen when we are ready for them things will should always happen soon happen before they can be understood should always happen in the midst of fear of longing of unpreparedness of being hollow that is the message of the rain as it continues to fall as generations continue to emerge the way the vines do eventually and the boars the birds because as soon as it is noon everything will be afraid of losing the sun afraid of gaining the sun afraid of losing a future afraid of being a fool afraid that noone else is afraid the fear of isolation and the fear of rejection are the keys to our acceptance keys to our unity the things which bind us are not words which we can speak are not movement of our eyes are not days in which we live are not anything without the textures of our ragged souls where is logic in the hiding where is the logic hiding when minds can looks so easily at all that they need cities fall and bridges burn before the flame ashes flowing down the hills theres a poignant memory of the love song that destruction sings that salvation brings and then there is flying once again the burning of both wings sings the sweetest song because it brings us to our knees to our shorelines and to a much closer view of bridges burnt without the fire reflecting through your eyes without the glowing of the night there only extinguishing water cold and swift and you swim accross because you never did need a bridge at all no you never did want to take that path and the river is just a different route to the kingdom in the sky is this the cost for which you yield your wings can you be the cost for which i yield my wings in the rain in the night in one of the sweetest twilights of my life nevermind the organs playing never mind the solumn pews we can dance out in the sunlight twirl about the rows of graves because it is just one of those things i have always dreamed of doing and i know you make my dreams come true what good are static dreams stubborn non dreams clouded realities perhaps the case it that a dream has every need to change before it is fulfilled in whole and in part it will always be the same dream everlasting and i lose concern for the matter becasue i feel your hand and there are flowers in the sun and the way the shadows come and go across your smile is an intricacy that i never dreamed but one that pleasures me the same one never knows what is out there and that is part of the beauty of the human brain creating and distorting a little glance at a reality and that will be the most you ever see of it every real moment becomes the fulfilling of your dreams where to go now wonderous clouds above i never tohught i would take such pleasure in things not my style but what is the point of self examination if it leads to self definition there is nothing worse i feel no need to know who i am because i am me i see not what good comes from trying to understand from ever defining an ever changing me that is always me no matter what i say the drive for knowledge is far more vast than the question of existance

It is quiet, but i could go on.
Subscribe
  • Post a new comment

    Error

    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.
  • 3 comments