7. Immortality

7. Immortality

One without equal may

seek only that, maybe

to share the responsibility


Do we fear death or immortality. or

simply losing out on one

because we have the other


Our Passion’s paradox

driving us to evolve as

consciousness expands, we

transmigrate and trade our

bodies again


The fear of immortality is

that we’ll experience everything,

have all the memories and then

never forget

Could we just be Deities without the



5. Counting

5. Counting

Steps taken over the waters

As if through time as well

It is suspended

After I leave here

Before I get there


As I project thoughts

that play along the rails

Counting each hop

Counting each skip


Then returning as if

none of it occurred

The bridge ends and soon

I’m home



Wandering in the somnolent keep                                                                                                             We brush each eternal essence of our deep                                                                                             Depths too well known for those who walk


Whither will the flowers
Soaking each stem and each root
Kindling all the buds


Anything else here
Embedded within these
Words beneath these Words
Beyond their unconscious plays
What else could my symbols create

1. It Only Lends Itself To Dream

To Luna: Neither Love nor Infatuation


Is it the

suffering that

makes this love

exist at these

weeping worth



This fodder

for one who


Waking washing

away such a vivid



This is not for

those still living


rippling blood

into a half-full



Weak and powerless

The depth makes

tear-less eyes bleed

Even in wanting

death, life becomes



As it levels

out a waking

heart left half-empty


As if this could

only exist in dreams,

There’s even less

now left in the land

for the living


Whether or not

Deathe shrouds

sleepers in immortal



As if sleeping

now gives glimpses

in such lucidity

and well they could

not repeat themselves


How apt that I

only desire to e’er

sleep with You.


For these love-filled

dreams, make the waking

suffer and all no longer worth


Now even more illusory

than dream.

2. It Only Lends Itself To Dream

To Ceph’: Neither Infatuation Nor Love


There’s no envy

nor even jealousy,

one can only muster

a reactive smile

in blindness of any

other love


of any other

touch, as if

synaesthesia was

the senses correct order


Now even the

face and voices

fade, memory made

hollow an suffering

all the more meaningless


Numbness shallow

in its deepness

Gives way

to further numbness


Not even the warmth

of the womb

Could bring such



With passion’s

shadow beginning

to stray

All senses ending

as they fade



even numb

could not explain

All feeling made

all the more vague


Even numb

can not explain

All feeling made

all the less lucid

Nothing made

all the more