Isaiah (Morning)

Morning!

“Do you not know, have you not heard”

It seems to me that most of self looks to another, looks to see, if what description that blueprint of few, is all of what Facebook, makes it of you. It seems that we look, look real hard to find our description, of what we are. We look to another, one less than, to say we are better, much better than. It seems to me all of what we are, is not real world, that of the blood, that of the reason, that draws us true like G_d or the season, we are nothing through. Oh simple man, or woman in skirt, one who sewed it, that made it worth, do you not know, or have you not seen, that Adonai made you, made you to scream. Made you to laugh, formed you in mud, made you a vampire to suck only love. Better yourself, the one who don’t look, the one who bends better, and mirrors forsook. One of the harvest, cut from the rest, that could not rely on what social said is best.

Morning!

“Do you not know, have you not heard”

It seems to me, that Lucretius formed a better truth, said that the Universe is centrally stood, said that your molecule, is human hood, made for the atom, made under sun, destiny fortune, better than sum. In all of future, gathered of past, right here before you, treasured at last. Do you not know, and have you not heard, you could fly stronger, better than if you lowered yourself into the herd. That lonely, lonely herd.

Morning!

“Do you not know, have you not heard”

So better your something, better your grand, know that your interest lies in a plan, not that of others, those that don’t know, those who seek victim, when their life is low. Do you not know, and have you not heard, you are created better than earth, not to a worship, not to a sun, not to a thing, that’s shiny when done, well really not to sex when bodies grow old, but to a spirit, that’s mystery untold. It seems to me that most of self looks to another, looks to see, if what description that blueprint of few, is all of what Facebook, makes it of you. – 08.27.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Bathsheba the Morning After (Pull Me Under)


My wrist uplifted, sliced in light with a blade of dawn, my conscience tender, human filled with defilement from my slumber. The night, the dragons, the fears where daemons cry. My weakness before sunrise, in thoughts, a failure in darkness, the thorns that made love cry. No psalm right now, my creator before me, indigenous shame beneath dry sky. Pull me under, lest I kill me, your judgment before me, these sprites inside me, lost from grace inwardly misplaced. My mind a warrior, my soul a prophet, now ruined in shadows, unreasonable in its passion, my spear inside me. I am pulled under, spinning before your face.

Pull me under, with skin that falters within the moment, in moonlight, Azazel in passion with lips before me, a fire of wonder that marks me blind. In sighs, in minutes my spirit insipid, a man her other, my destiny, forgotten, this light of a new day, another I called out, and by a summoned, a clay filled pact, by that familiar did Uriah stumble and die. Opened now by my eastern window, noise, and divisions in diver’s places, this sorcery unending, ethereal and wicked. By my eye, I have traded compassion to another, in this coldness, I am pulled under, spinning before your face.

Bane of a tempter, that lightning that thrills me, her body in water that judgment controls. Pull me under, that morning might not find me, these covers in kisses of rapture, these whispers of soul. This light how it burns me, and makes my heart quiver, this place by my window, where your flesh has called me wait. A deception, a strange essence I have captured, an infamy now held forever, these acts now behind me, I am pulled under while I awake.

 

David (מַּלְכוּת)
awoke on the first day after the darkness was gone, alone a murderer and an adulterer, separated from the light, all predestined and a part of a strange and balanced plan. – דָּנִיֵּאל 04/10/2014