Silk Road forums
Discussion => Newbie discussion => Topic started by: Basquiat57 on August 19, 2013, 05:59 pm
-
Whispering winds blow through my blinds when it's hot and the windows of my minds eye are open
and hoping this realistic blame won't change the
fallacies of my dilutional fame in this sense
mainframe ego exchange game..
Thrice i found this souls business abound a
naturally found spring of what this life will bring,
Yet once was the common denomination of the
Lords contemlation as I digest continually on this
continuum on my leased contingency. Freedom is
the reward. It only comes with sacrifice.
And there i was playing poker while the spirit was
embellishing on brevity like a professional fire
stoker. This wisdom flowing freely is finely crafted
like a handmade knife by Boker ..All of this spinning
and massive false false grinning makes me cry that
we're all unwarranted jokers. Stiff minds will break
in the end like an oak tree in high wind while the
limber finds slumber with solice and free flowing
rainbow dream.
Ambient seas of eternal blissful energies are
pervading your everything, infiltrating all unknown
memories while you cast your souls sails into the
winds of this wanderfull wayward trail of traversing
adversity by a blue green hues hand of divine
design.
I panned out looking across this pantomime of free
flowing energy and saw a planned out flight being
flown by most, like an albatross with no grounded
land to call home upon the coast. I pinned up a
stout picture of what looked like what we had lost
the most in this rhythm and time I stretch out a
toast, to the gold plated cross with no regard to the
souls left alone to starve in the desert sand without
even so much as a stale piece of toast
Seven is seven and nine is nine. Seeing is sexy
and time is fine. Savory is simmering and steam
burns a line. Eleven is perspective and that takes
due time. Stationary is a sign looking to redefine.
Stems of thought will see you through this brevity
in time.
Hotwings and diamond rings and basketball
playoffs and all of these things society sees fit to
see do not impress me. The parameters of
misguided brevity and roundhouse reality kick
teeth of those whose bread leave unleavenedty.
Bakers temperatures hold nothing more than
subjectivity as we grasp to perspective and all
dignity.
To what end does my stance and the strength
thereof difine my level of transcend? With which
blend of this trance and my rants thereof shall i
find my beveled intend? Within who's definition of
twitch and popularity do we flow through this
thatch and to prosperity? Do these questions add
depth to your consciousness or am i simply
babbling around a perspective of clarity?
I Am trying to throw my disks within the same
lines i see the birds be. I Am trying to vest my soul
within we. I Am Trying to decide if a code is within
free. I Am Trying to flow my risks beyond three. I
Am Trying to grow within limitless boundary. I Am
Trying to tan the Hyde of that which we hide. I Am
Trying to quit trying.
-
Bumping your post so I can quote 3 of my favourites.
“To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour.”
-William Blake
HAD I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
- W.B. Yeats
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sounds the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
- Robert Frost