Stunning the eye, as sand and storm; intolerable the height. As harmony is promised by angles of respect, dire are the steps -levels of fright! Light of deliverance, received, diffused... spun like a web, reflected again. Magnificent its essence.
Omen of freedom or spark of wisdom? Uncertainty is abundant for non believers. Balance unattainable for frivolous thinkers. A beacon was needed; a beacon was built.
Warmth to the north, illuminate the east, relief to the south, shine on the west. You chose to arrive, but could not walk. You wanted to learn but could not believe.
The height was blinding. The light full of fright, descending the steps. Balance was needed; balance was built.
It's half way there, you can rest for the night. Enter as humble, as newly reborn. The scrolls, the papyri, inscribing the light. How long could they hold it, that rose with one thorn?
Wisdom, soul and belief. A Triad they form. With pyramid, light and some scrolls, we searched for relief. Fire came from light, destroying the Word. The earth shook the light, and kept it within. Tessellated the pyramid; how could we ever resemble a triad. A tomb has its height become...
And then she was born. Children she brought; delivered the promise. The price though, so steep. By curse they were torn. Futile the triumphs. Empty the kingships, much like the tomb.
The alchemists searched, and read and they wrote. How gold to create; to capture her light. If gold you were seeking, the tomb has been raided. If light you desire, the beacon was lost. The scrolls were rewritten, for only to burn.
From mythopoeia to Chrysopoeia, the Word has been passed, transgressed and then lost. There's few of us left and carry the host, inscribed in our souls, as Ptolemy's House.
Delivered as promised, she passed on our bonds. Inquire all within in you, for one is the all. And try as she did. It wasn't for gold. It was for her children, it was for her house, the House of Atreides.
I'm glad you liked it... I have titled this "Pyramids, light and scrolls" but I am re-thinking the title. Any suggestions? I doubt it will ever get published but in any case you are the first to read it.
Mă gîndesc la bucuria de a trăi şi mă întreb dacă voi putea pătrunde vreodată înlăuntrul meu, pînă la rădăcina acestei cărni, pentru a-l cunoaşte pe cel care-am fost. Rădăcina există. Dacă vreun act de-al meu mi-o va dezvălui, asta rămîne ascuns în viitor. Dar toate lucrurile pe care poate să le facă un om îmi stau în puteri. Oricare dintre actele mele ar putea să izbuteasca..
duncan idaho
Stunning the eye, as sand and storm;
RăspundețiȘtergereintolerable the height.
As harmony is promised by angles of respect,
dire are the steps -levels of fright!
Light of deliverance, received, diffused...
spun like a web, reflected again.
Magnificent its essence.
Omen of freedom or spark of wisdom?
Uncertainty is abundant for non believers.
Balance unattainable for frivolous thinkers.
A beacon was needed; a beacon was built.
Warmth to the north, illuminate the east,
relief to the south, shine on the west.
You chose to arrive, but could not walk.
You wanted to learn but could not believe.
The height was blinding.
The light full of fright, descending the steps.
Balance was needed; balance was built.
It's half way there, you can rest for the night.
Enter as humble, as newly reborn.
The scrolls, the papyri, inscribing the light.
How long could they hold it, that rose with one thorn?
Wisdom, soul and belief.
A Triad they form.
With pyramid, light and some scrolls, we searched for relief.
Fire came from light, destroying the Word.
The earth shook the light, and kept it within.
Tessellated the pyramid; how could we ever resemble a triad.
A tomb has its height become...
And then she was born.
Children she brought; delivered the promise.
The price though, so steep. By curse they were torn.
Futile the triumphs. Empty the kingships, much like the tomb.
The alchemists searched, and read and they wrote.
How gold to create; to capture her light.
If gold you were seeking, the tomb has been raided.
If light you desire, the beacon was lost.
The scrolls were rewritten, for only to burn.
From mythopoeia to Chrysopoeia,
the Word has been passed, transgressed and then lost.
There's few of us left and carry the host, inscribed in our souls,
as Ptolemy's House.
Delivered as promised, she passed on our bonds.
Inquire all within in you, for one is the all.
And try as she did. It wasn't for gold.
It was for her children,
it was for her house, the House of Atreides.
a beloved poet
:-o no words..spokeless
RăspundețiȘtergerethank you anonim
I'm glad you liked it...
RăspundețiȘtergereI have titled this "Pyramids, light and scrolls" but I am re-thinking the title. Any suggestions?
I doubt it will ever get published but in any case you are the first to read it.
Anonim (I think I like that...)