Speak in flames. Infliction the devices. Resting on the shadows false promises. Still. Arousing still. Separating all of that you feel which still. Continues to condemn you for your ways.
Time is an abyss -. Profound as a thousand nights;. I sojourn my haste, I make respites. For what availeth this eager peace?. One step more naught to face,.
An artist is what is call'd the self the brush holdeth -. Though hath it then caringly caress'd the Canvas of tomorrow?. O Canvas! for thee I hold my tool - still passionless it quivereth.
An artist is what is call'd the self that the brush holdeth -. Though hath it then caringly caress'd the. Canvas of to-morrow?,. O Canvas! for thee I hold my tool - still! passionless it quivereth,.
Don't know inside from upside-down. We praise the famed unwittingly. If we had read that we are but illiterate. What would we do?. Keep inventory of things that we do not owe.
Ado with a mean woe,. An ado as aglow;. Belying the paynim. Thou rewrot'st the tome -. An ivy-crown'd and dancing,. And fawn'd and trancing -. Espying the surly wud,.
Echoes that somehow. Can surround us. Can resound through stillness. Like thoughts of shifting this balance. . Ideas of ideals convolve like intricate phases.
Unreal is grip of this dream. Calling out for truth. Mirage that they call life. Hovering in you. . EWngulfed in caress of night. And sigh of the dead.
Walking out of nowhere. Still no place to go out of life. Shadows haunt the evening. Through a quiet skies. Where I am nowhere is to?. . In grey they didn't see the way.
Blown out. Blissed out. Blacked out. Ran until I fell out. Burned out. Turned out. Death is on my shoulder. Yet there's. Peace here. Chasing down the meaning.