We stop speaking, Our silence like prayers on the wind swings through the willows hanging over the trough You know despite my silence that the leaves are going to fall, and you know despite my silence that I belong to you although I’ve never said the words, doves and twilight your hand a Sun reaching out to me, your Goliath’s eyes on me mute my fear and tonight is the night when everything is left to prayer
Guardians of our race inner shadows watching as around moving within ourselves searching the night that returns to us holding hands, entering the mirrors of our lands
looking for what is lost those ancient treasures we were meant to inherit, stolen – facing aching eternity absent those stairs and the halls leading to our glorious reigning heaven
Holding hands we break bread before eternity, seeking the stars of our destiny, we were born like this and hated for our beauty, living now lost at the height of clouds so serene among the shadows between heaven and hell and we know that only our Love exists here where Heritage keeps us wandering
looking for treasures squandered the treasures stolen, the memories lost, the Light of our world;
Our ancient guardians sign custody papers using the seven names of God; knowing they will soon come to claim us, we are on the move and arriving for having come so far; we will leave with those who are leaving, while chasing away those who chase us Guardians of our race, extend your blessings and grace over us as we birth a new race, a new world a new home..
Deliverance is music and splendor We go beyond the chaos We open up to other innocences
Our desires live inside inaccesible gardens where the trees have no root, where the plants sing of freedom and infinity fringes the latticed flowers on the gate, open to all pollen, bittersweet with the flavors of distant fruits
we’ve circled one another for so long hesitant, reticent, waiting for all defenses to fall, the hunger in us grows through tomorrow like a vine strangling fear; we are for each other no strangers to ritual; our candles and memories are omens, our longing becoming prayer…
we barely speak this language of love; that improbable existence of luminous joy is not for him, the philosopher, nor for me, his poet, we offer to others what we deny ourselves while dreaming for too long, defenses one by one burning from the center of Self reaching for the horizon, our hearts embracing before the suffering Light, our hearts bathed and washed in waters of love’s benediction; placed along shores where the fires ravage our fierce dreams, inaugerating that which is not yet in us
It’s not in smoking volcanoes Nor in the boiling blue foams rising from the oceans Yet in these regions is where you and I live, here we name the secret streets and make elegant histories to describe this, our indecipherable colony of love, here we live through nights and days under the wide open gaze of the sun and the moon, looking for augurs in in the skies, searching for the dazzling eclipse, a white crack the thundering gash of God His holy hologram Eye all seeing emerging through the hollow walls of our planet, He offers us incense and fire with which to light up the the scattered syllables of the lost codes written on these stones which I carry, each in its own upturned palm, as I seek him who will read these invisible stones which are my burden; yet
despite my patience, no fiery winged Pentecost descends around me, just these snatches of darkness, as I put on my lead mask, turning my face up to the sky; innominate meteors fall down, robbing me of my vision that fails just as he locks the doors behind us.
Alternate realities do exist, not in other dimensions, but in the minds of every living organism (be it sentient or otherwise). Our individual realities are constructed within our minds, attempting to process, or make sense of, a massive flow of information, at a speed equal to it. "Reality" is what we perceive, rather than an actual plane of existence or awareness.