I would like to tell you a secret
There’s something I see in the night rain…
He was dark.
It is as if his eyes becoming transparent, each day. Consuming the omnipotence.
I remember how people had given him many names… many callings…
Ah, but I prefer to call him a friend. A certain friend
There’s one time that I came unto him and asked the questions of the world… my world.
(Inside the mind of a child, what could be better?)
And there were many books that I carry with, too many books to propose with
His answers only, a smile.
Maybe, just once, I have heard him humming.
It’s like a big thunder that made even the trees awakened
Would you like to know how the sounds floated like?
He was lighter.
It is as if his eyes grew colorless, each moment. Absorbing the polarity.
There’s something I used to see in the night rain…
Although now it’s not like what I used to love…
Between eclipses of each foundation…
A MYSTIC PRIMORDIAL.
I awake under the weight of the heavy snow.
The uproars surged up to the air of this cliff, synchronizing in inhuman screams as it slipped through beyond the mountain walls where shadows becomes one with the stratosphere of the night.
Yet I had taken some time to get fixed to my eyes… the soft push of these tiny light-falls instruments from an inevitable height, were the ones very inviting to mine… but even though they were remarkably beautiful… the presence of darkness above would easily made captive every piece of the beauty possessed.
For every slightest sense of light—in this place, could easily perish
In silent curiosity, if you have secretly wonder about it… what to be heard after is the weeping of the moon and the forest. These condemning yet almost delightful howls have manifested into spears of eerie vowels, a very saddening tune to whoever listen to a prisoner of soul.
But why does the harsh winter embedded in this northern land in a quickening state of madness? Perhaps, to trifurcate with our faith. But I assure you to keep your wits as a child even as you are now… Thus by being uncompelled by the conditional nature, your resistance to this sweet illusion is, and always high.
If you would listen to the soars risen from the depths of death — trying to regain the self-returning to the senses…
Just like a code to remark with
Sometime, somehow, in a certain point of your unique track of flight, it will again become somewhat chaotic… and the familiar feeling—the images of being return into this sweet, luscious, tantalizing dreams… (Oh, how they have visited too often in your sleep—)
The idea… the urge of returning…
Would made you shiver
I realize it’d took one long enough to finally see how beautiful everything really is… Shimmering in a twisted circuit of deep, invisible transline — that connects to a placate masterpiece gradation of The Opalized Labyrinth.
Now, if you would stand for awhile and admire the beauty of overcoming these situational emotions…
Then “Now” surely won’t be the day when the mind meets an end.
Be it sunny after the storm… or be it stormy after the sun
I assure you – within everything – there’s a Verge of Gaia