30 January 2017

Dom spiro, spero


The eyes see all the colors in darkness, where there was this memory that it never happened, dreaming that I fell as I slept on a throne dreaming that I reached into the air, waking myself up. Taking the emotional response into sleep I dreamt of a place, where thoughts are all that have power, thoughts of thinking of thoughts, the mind as a mode of emotion, communicating with memories, or temporal futuristic beings if you prefer, where imagination defends itself and reality imposes belief as a means to confront our own desires, there are interpretations of infinity and representations of truth, and yet I found a surface, where there is a wall there is a way out, not a mental barrier of mortal ambition for I had brought that with me, but something more than the human condition or emotional barrier, by beginning and end not, those trivialities of consciousness, the surface i could not see was cold before contact, by my fingertips the knowledge of moisture and texture, sight and sound a real wall in my dream of dreams. 


I drink from the serum of life, I borrow from light to make sacrifice for time, of all things shadow of a soul, the echoes of pure darkness colliding with my skin, in the wake of creation I am an atom, and yet unable to define purpose like the first of a species to see its reflection, this place from beyond has become my memory itself, while I breathe I hope, as I speak I am cast from the eternity of salvation into the chaos of the omniverses, brittle are the divinities be they thieves of the atoms that bind us, the prison of time feeds the essence of my soul and i pass thru its walls strengthened by dying stars and endless light, to escape and know the demise of the enemy, incomparable of memory of dreams of memory, nothing is as it seems, nor is it otherwise.