An L rating has been given. L for warning of length.
A Diatonic Descent of Life in a Mortal Sense
...is a tune of whistling bliss
It heralds the sunshine and all it's glories, and the storm
with all it's power...but never does it speak the truth to the
dumb for it has no pity for those who refuse
She sun doth replenish both skin and soul
Full of perfect measure beyond fatigue and sensations feeling
To lie in splendour and in jest...the great aim of human goal
behind a torment of truth...
to search the seas and the stars in space
Gratitude and loneliness at best, the foundation of all that sings of beauty
So high the shining start of light does but glitter in mine eye
Although not straight, listen to the sounds of nature near my side
'Tis cold, and yet I know not why the happiness still lives...
not dies
The soft and joyous temptation of life's flower is a joy of the she sun
...and of the senses that relish the simplicity of ones hopes...
but to feel intrinsic knowledge and power and sense the going down of
age and life's slopes knows
no bounds in an ever increasing sea of acknowledgements and ever decreasing
dates
...of appointments; is to know that where there are children there is joy and contentment
that the intuition inside they hold, is something of which to be proud
Don't teach them to expect disappointment because life is only cold and callous
With thoughts of turpitude, when hounded by those of the misfortunate crowd
Right now 'tis true that the stars cannot be seen but the multitude of angels surround
the sky still and evermore...
for the curiosity of such ones to travel the dimensions of comas,
where they have been welcomed and shown the way to the door...
the door of lies and hopes and confusion...but also of love, beauty, colour and fate
Where flowers rest in winds of bliss,
not knowing that a world of disillusionment is where they are from
But these creatures of small and old, relish not in hate
Does the rose truly die in shades of pale death?
Or does it live in harmonic progressions of a simpletons pleasurable sensations
of it's scents and incurable touches?
I rest my body completely on the grass and put my ears to the ground
listening to the silence of nature
I sense and feel and hear all that nestles in thee
Children that are watched by loneliness or discord, unless covered
by a reach of spiritual descent in me, will never know of what is in this world
of horror...for their story will be one of reality, not dream
My hair becomes one with each blade of grass and my legs one body with the earth
Together we make a silent song in waiting and listen still for watchful birds of glory
I do not resent the past, there is non
Past is equal to the future
They are the same like the snow is to the rain, just one
Neither can be measured by cold or wet
Nor the time by sunrise and sunset
Simply one and the same seed
Those whom live only one must be lost, or in pain because time heralds no gain,
just confusion to which there is no conclusion
...Only emptiness, yet they may never know their mistake; a diatonic descent of
life in a mortal sense...a mortal point of view and the looking glass of events,
they don't know how to curb and control
My dreams are full of joy and love not of this modern world
Laughter and love all over and beyond...
Will my dream ever come true?
'No, but your reality will.'
Feeling the leaves of ones own self worth
And nestling in with roses and thyme, knowing that time is the only memory and is not
a positive aspect...but yet the fumble between the haystack and running among the poppies
seems to be a victory to those of unfortunate awares
Still, I feel the leaves of my lack of fortune and look deeper still, so that I touch and taste the root
The root of the whole tree...and feel the strength that still I hold within
The trunk that runs ever higher and higher still, until the branches appear...
At the tips are my leaves, my misfortune of love and life
My mortal anxieties that readeth me and reach for me, and always succeed in yanking me
from my dreams of hopping into the sky...
high, high above so that I can fly
Better more when blossoms of youth touch my lips
I come alive and listen to the winds blowing around my ears
I know not what the ever knowing is and where to find it.
But also I feel that a knowing is bare when the knowledge of why we exist
inside the human heart is gone
Why then, do the yellow flowers only spring poison, and the young children grow to eighty
in the fourth year of life?
Why do people live and grow old with sadness?
It isn't pleasing, it makes people sad and I know not to touch it
So, I touch the leaves of my own self worth and if they displease me, I shall rip them off
the tree and burn them
Burn them along with the thyme and roses and bury them
Even though, I feel that diatonic illusion is only there within the soul of one person when that
soul is empty...If the leaves comes again, would it not be better to remove the whole tree and start again?
'I did this', said the fairy, 'and felt alone.'
No, start with the mortal body and build from there an immortal mind...once this has been done
the colours of knowledge will paint the sun and feed the hungry
Immortal sense to feed the soul
the empty human soul
the apitamy of life and love
Yet without it would we not diminish into a speck of...nothing
Float away and smell no roses, no thyme, only see the vast sea's and play in poisoned water
But now I feel the urge to place the body onto the grass
And feed to soul
For I am a soul, a living soul and the tree of my self worth will grow, any way I will it to
I am the seed and root that grow that tree and...if I am weak, so then will the tree die
Death, a dire heartache that withers into happiness and eats away the ever living core
The core of what life is
It isn't a diatonic illusion of mortal sense...it's a specimen of scientific identification that
Swims through the oceans of godly sparkle, and magic that shines the sun and feeds us
We, him, she, them
....and aren't we worth more than this?
Aren't we worth this magic?
I say yes that we are...and if the oceans rock and roar
And the flowers sing and shout...and nature takes us by the throat and shakes us
By then, that time if disillusion, we should know the straight from the crooked..
The blind from the seeing, and feel that the song does actually rest on the tonic...
from where it started , giving us a perfect sonata of Oneness in a moral sense.
©1998/2001
Inspired by...need I say?
Much Love.
hehe i really like You*** 
OVE alone is eternal and unconquerable.
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