Writing

It is

Blessed are those who seek 

what they can’t see

Some mumbling bumbling 

category.

 
Jewelled demons claw at you

They speak without voice

Only need a few dollars

Employer of choice.

  

If it hides, light its darkness

If it fights, set it free

No actor can act 

what a being can’t be.

  

The dancers deceive us

Sweet night set us free

This turbid green liquor 

Herein lies the sea

  

Open the window

Take in the air

Bathe in the lamplight

Reject every care

  

Concrete and fences

All guide your way home

But it’s too late

And it feels late

Because it is late

And we commiserate that

In the end

We’re all

on 

  

our 

  

  

own

  

 

 

But that’s ok. 

  

Sensate 

Annihilate

Gate, gate, paragate

 

Infinite

Devoid of hate

Or was it something that I ate?

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