Sometimes we are able to open a doorway to our most intimate selves through art.
If we can use art as a tool to better understand the world, art becomes a mirror and a window of ourselves.
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Mobilis In MobiliI sing of this body…Continue
Tags: poetry, hermetic, alchemy
Killer Poetry Nemo
Sometimes we read rhyming lines of prose
Just where that they come from, no-one really knows
Sometimes they strike chords echoing familiarity
To us they're clear, although the right word is clarity
It seems as tho for me at least, I never have to try
The right words always just show but I;m damned if I know why
I just wanted to say to you, how moved your poems made me
the best way I know for me to tell you, is to share what Spirit gave me
One Small Token
What takes possession of my being as I slumber
What soft light hovers in this sleep I am under
These mere words are an attempt to map out
Where my heart met it's spirit once...without question or doubt
How many times must I reach this mirage
Within dark chapters, this nocturnal montage
How can I not follow her footsteps sublime
For she is revealed to me as The Daughter of Time
She is worthy of study, she is Nature in kind
And from here ever after I am hers and she ever mine
In this attempt to trace my way to her side
She whispers 'there's no need' for she is my bride
In sleep I shall meet her and then touch her hand
In a faraway place I know where dreams land
This dream will tell me things of a world I do miss
As gentle a chime rings...a memory ...a kiss
And though a kiss will bring with it a longing and wonder
I now draw a map back to the mystery I ponder
Who would ever think that this enchantment would make
A one such as I to enfold her and take
This small light...this tender bright...this one spark at night
And then sleep the sleep of a tender delight
The dream is a second life. I could not break without a shudder those ivory or horn doors that separate us from the invisible world. The first moments of sleep are the image of death; a nebulous numbness seizes our thinking, and we can not determine the exact moment when the ego, in another form, continues the work of existence. It is a subterranean wave that lights gradually and where emerge from the shadows and night pale gravely motionless figures that inhabit the stay of limbo. Then the table form, a new light illuminates and makes playing these weird apparitions - the spirit world opens for us.
Gerad de Nerval
Over the years they seldom change
Whose images and movement we try and name
Whose relation cannot be re-arranged
And yet they will remain the same
Shadows they be called at night
From deep inside us it seems
Four seasons will reveal their might
Of impressions we know as dreams
Whenever family , friend or foe whose part
Becomes pivotal in our play
A nocturnal assembly whose heads and whose hearts
Brings life and meaning in their way
Then again a night's vision that stirs until dawn
Will bring with it a message from where?
A tender place where dreams do land on
And memories of our soul are made there
That which we attend from that intangible region
Is a token that is kept the heart
In exchange we give our love to the seasons
And this we divide in four parts
Ever felt inside, magnetic forces, draw us closer, centered now. We flow together, floating feeling, falling down. High pitched ringing, Whats that sound? like strands of fate, we are bound. So far apart. Forces gravitating In the now. Am i dreaming? Or is this reality now? I walk through the river of emotion, to find the ocean drowning. The sky is pitched with sorrow, though the stars shine with amity. is this the raise in the game? Because its love in a world of Duality..
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