I feel faceless, graceless in this moment. Not even as succint as mediocre. All around the inspirational, the beautiful, the grace-moments. Skittering over like hair on silk. The pitchfork has aerated the soil , from whence then did this covering shadow come from.
I dream my dreams in loneliness; as from the womb untouched by loving hands. Perhaps the cover is woven of dreams melted like chocolate in the sun.I see, I smell, I crave the sweetness. I could reach and touch but not grasp substance. Patterned though with the marble of shattered dreams.
I stand in the marbled halls. The vision, the light is clear. The spirit senses what the eye has not materialised. All that is seen is a vessel in the corner. Receptive. Do I carry the seeds.