Those Within It

POETRY NEWS #4343
Date: 07/12/2013 at 02:19
From: Bluef Shayan'Kor, the Somnolent Wytch
To : Everyone
Subj: Those Within It


-A poem 'found' at the Universal Membrane-

Push the sand
away from your eyes.

Contorted by poison,
your cheeks turn pink

when you inscribe
those forgettable cards.

She has fallen
to the Skies.

Come with us and resurrect.
Don't just stand there,

at the centre set with stones,
in a band of sizzling fire.

The viper is the key
but I am moving so slow

through the balance.
Tempering my notes

with sounds of spirits.
I do this all the time.

Like the fish in the Zaphar,
they speak to me through sapphire

effervescence, but twitch oddly
like they need something to eat.

It isn't good
to be so alone.

Everyone does this
more than you'd think.

The quiet places people go
test their mental reserves.

Their inner voices are seared
by crisp electric energy.

Where are the Masters and Disciples
when you need them?

Get out. Draw your sword.
You have too much tolerance for rum.

Write this down.
Remember the way the words sound.

They are not in your language,
and the muse will not speak to you

unless you are following Him.
She will bleed out again.

The might of a hooded man
cuts through the wilderness.

But all you have in your hands
are towers and universes.

There was once a Great Price paid
to return to life,

now everyone just runs at the trees
and yells, "Resurrect me, please!"

The stars shine in the night's sky
but few listen to them anymore.

It is a two-edged sword.
You knew that when you came here.


Penned by my hand on the 6th of Miraman, in the year 630 AF.