TheThirdRevelation

I. I watch the world of man  ebb and flow, propelled by  sense of what was once  wonder Whimsical in its replacement by  capital and cultivated contentment  if not drowned in the gravity Who once spoke of dreams and that  which is hard, Who reveled in the vice of descent  unto cosmic pleasure, the adoration  of education and understanding Who undo the overdone and redo  the tribal comedy and moral  forfeiture, forthwith and forthcoming  reconciliation of progress to  morality and humanity What once was always is  always weathered and  withered and wondered and  wanted while whitewashed  by unconscious wil

The minds of the masses ruined by the mass of the world No longer growing to achievement, but dashed down, unknown to themselves what worlds are stolen from them. Blindly moving horizontally, provocation once replaced motivation, now is merely redundant– they, now perpetual motion machines. My eyes cross and my fingers drag across the symbols that build our language Access to infinite amounts of creation but they simply fall onto buttons. Emotions become products, authenticity no longer feasible Construction controls, infuriates, confounds. Humanity philosophical, non-definitive. What substituted for who Why long lost in obsc

On the wall of sound It flows vocally Lyrically Harmonically Constantly rising Lacking what's yet to come The inevitable fullness Electricity building Tension in the bones, room, strings Drums rumble lowly, quietly Ears perk anxiously Static popping on hairs. Instruments at the ready Waiting, all for the conductor's drop Violins and clarinets Trumpets and trombones Oboes and saxophones Flutes and cellos Bass, guitar, and the ever important piano Suddenly, In unison In fortissimo With passion Crashing sound Resonating through the tears falling in the balcony Ladies and gentlemen, The Orchestra

The midnight glow of a television. A timeless classic romance of science fiction crime. The warming heat of modern artificial ventilation. Self-sufficient from nature's rice krispy treats. Naked bodies coalesce on earth of fibrous carpeting. A glance in those swimming eyes, and volcanic clove cigarette smoke filters through my nose. The forest fires of whiskey burn my lungs. Massive earthquakes crack away the world, leaving you. Thunderclaps roar, the sound of your heartbeat. The music of animals, of orchestra, of creek and river, of light and dark, heavy and gracile, float on your breath.

Light falls through the prism of natural muses Snowflakes fall on the glass entrapping, Refracting the burning flame Melting into colors, thrown outward Clashing, expressing, enshrouded Criss-crossed treads of soaked boots Crunch the flakes on of trapped color on the pavement patterns collide and intertwine Like the digits of these lovers, On the proverbial cusp of warmth and cold Symbiotically, interdependently The solitary light burns on, Casting shadows on the footfalls of the young Release the colors, They bounce off scarves Coattails Hair Eyes Souls In a sphere of light and color and warmth and safety Before the dark

I could never write poetry. I never could. So I won't try now. But you're the only person I'd write anything for. You say I'm poetry. You're it. Her. Just thought you should know. I told you the other night, but words don't do justice. I will wait for you, no matter how long. I told you that too. But words don't do justice. You said "don't waste your life." But the only thought I had was "I will never think of a better way to spend my whole life.” But I didn't say it. I never could. because what the world won't ever understand is that words don't do justice. just like "I love you." "Only you." "Only f