After the death of time, one feels frozen in a desperation to love and hold, with all variations of crushed love, splintered as pressurised sand into the hand within their lover’s grip. But the looping sway of the pendulum’s rays hold the golden priestess in a wedded spin; as each planet dances with the honey falling upon the Moon, shining adrift by the Sun’s sweeping wind.. That is, until the cuddled bond is altered by the solstice and eclipse. We fell for so long, with no appreciation for the essence we mixed, but now after a willing sacrifice has been ruined, guided and lifted through the darkness. We, being finally free and joyous with all and ourselves, begin to feel the heavenly planes within us as one; after the lamb has been rescued from the house of its slaughter. My insane mind would have waited forever, just to have one harmonious dance with you. But the more I have been burrowing through time’s lost longing, the more I doubt the difference between the sanity I need and the sanity I crave; when each is just a veil, shading us from the different degrees of a consciousness lit. Back home, dark skies split, benches to basements. Crippled lightning sparks down the tilted towers and low lines sag to rip. Stay calm here though, whilst housed sirens snap wired nerves the wrong way around, ultimately the system rebounds. Turn your drive on, Warrior, as moments collapse to then flow on, the withering breathe will be reborn. Blue spiked serpent tongues lace the sky with electrical reciprocals of a thunder-less storm, brewing within the cleared apart clouds above thy crown. The crowding clouds are thy halo, as dark valleys erupt above in blinding light, shepherding poison away from blessed children, guided by their nature. I am the lightning remnant. A powerful imprint left behind, as a fingerprint of vengeance. Through time, the fountain of youth overflows majestically into the streams of rain which fertilise the tree and cleanse away the pain from those bodies of the vessels: who hold onto their own pain to contain negative contagion. The costume masquerade is almost over, as something more valiant begins to replace it. Soon you can let go of the suffering you feel, as some shaped vision begins to form that eternity has almost perfected. Ezekiel begins to roar in the wind, though trumpets have been heard already in Lorenz’s water wheel fanning.
Moonlight Memoirs 