Feathers whisper stories and poems of life before.

Feathers whisper stories and poems of life before.
Feathers lie in the cold, it tell stories of life before.

Wednesday, August 21, 2013


Cyclope peep through the silent golden Trace
Lift upwards its sight to woe cool cottons
Below the lovable screen of eternity
When unwilling plural ‘come singular
Cycling with us ensync by fate or choice?
Both intense a searing loves a kindling ember
Unbearable to desert Gobi skies
Eternal cycling slaves in slavery
When Hugeness is in power so far and
 Soul is to spirit ours Is what it means
  The nimbus is to downpour and bee to blossom.
Therefore, disappearing tells appearing
With thoughts so in deeds Imagery and
 Reality tangible and intangible
 Coarseness And fineness: All thise shits are only shits
 To Love just becomes our slaves to our love
That their sir wakes up in endless cycles
 Bends Its head To the yawning west unbends to
 stretching east for itself (as it finds itself)
More slave to its cycling “for all time Come”
 Than Birds’ hilariously Atop each other
 In the offshoot of tall emerald gem
 THAN You with me to bed in nightly dream
Below the deepest called ecstasy  Seems forever (yes it’s, know it)
 As We enjoin our soul and spirit in search yes we lie down there
Dreaming And muttering dformdsilhouettedsubstanceessence about The terrible slave driver
                                   Happy Birthday to you
                                                                 My LUV

                                                     My Only Candy LOVE!

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