The house of my creation
Seeks the walls built
In absence of my permission.
The clothes that swathe this tepid body
Seek the weavings
Of fabrics that covers more.
The steps of this somnolent mind
Seek the paths
Laid down with self discovery.
~
The dream is of a man more weathered than I.
So much is foreign, so much is home,
Like the working of an estranged youth
Who wishes to know the light in the deepest caverns,
Yet battles the darkened calls of the night.
Where does one learn to light these depths
While conquering the fears of shadows…
Faced on all sides with masks smiling at themselves -
For they can only smile at their own understandings -
You, the child, will run down the only path left,
And there find that the rages of the past,
The emotions hiding in places still to be found,
Are not so real as to cause the fear and the faltering,
Revealed by those subtle smiles on the masquerading faces.
Giving guidance to the pieces, the construct becomes
A familiar place, and the walls that once loomed
Resemble landscapes now not so foreign
As the laughing masses, that once plagued thoughts.
Shape of life becomes a thing not interceded
But devised, intended, premeditated,
And with this permission, is our house concept built.
The house of my creation
Seeks the walls built
In absence of my permission.
Naked against a cold that spreads from all sides,
Cloth is spun from the knowledge remembered,
Past from ancestors, written on your dwellings walls,
waiting for the one with the courage to discover
that the weavings of our own decision will cover
more than the scraps of thread that hold together
the semblance of these masked smiling men.
The clothes that swathe this tepid body
Seek the weavings
Of fabrics that covers more.
Dark is pierced by a light that draws us from slumber
And confirms that potential for shadow in our room;
Lighting the cries of their eyes, which melt down the paleness
Of their contrived disguise, the light shows many masks
And forces the association, for no longer can we place
Such things outside of ourselves, when they are so obviously
Just that – ourselves, looming in from all sides.
The steps of this somnolent mind
Seek the paths
Laid down with self discovery.
Your home is the place you build it to be, and whether
You let the walls be covered in shadows, or read as scripture,
Is your fabric determined and spun; this weaving will replicate
The workings of your mind, and where awareness goes, energy flows,
Attracting the masks you bear to yourself, ready for identification,
Seeks the walls built
In absence of my permission.
The clothes that swathe this tepid body
Seek the weavings
Of fabrics that covers more.
The steps of this somnolent mind
Seek the paths
Laid down with self discovery.
~
The dream is of a man more weathered than I.
So much is foreign, so much is home,
Like the working of an estranged youth
Who wishes to know the light in the deepest caverns,
Yet battles the darkened calls of the night.
Where does one learn to light these depths
While conquering the fears of shadows…
Faced on all sides with masks smiling at themselves -
For they can only smile at their own understandings -
You, the child, will run down the only path left,
And there find that the rages of the past,
The emotions hiding in places still to be found,
Are not so real as to cause the fear and the faltering,
Revealed by those subtle smiles on the masquerading faces.
Giving guidance to the pieces, the construct becomes
A familiar place, and the walls that once loomed
Resemble landscapes now not so foreign
As the laughing masses, that once plagued thoughts.
Shape of life becomes a thing not interceded
But devised, intended, premeditated,
And with this permission, is our house concept built.
The house of my creation
Seeks the walls built
In absence of my permission.
Naked against a cold that spreads from all sides,
Cloth is spun from the knowledge remembered,
Past from ancestors, written on your dwellings walls,
waiting for the one with the courage to discover
that the weavings of our own decision will cover
more than the scraps of thread that hold together
the semblance of these masked smiling men.
The clothes that swathe this tepid body
Seek the weavings
Of fabrics that covers more.
Dark is pierced by a light that draws us from slumber
And confirms that potential for shadow in our room;
Lighting the cries of their eyes, which melt down the paleness
Of their contrived disguise, the light shows many masks
And forces the association, for no longer can we place
Such things outside of ourselves, when they are so obviously
Just that – ourselves, looming in from all sides.
The steps of this somnolent mind
Seek the paths
Laid down with self discovery.
Your home is the place you build it to be, and whether
You let the walls be covered in shadows, or read as scripture,
Is your fabric determined and spun; this weaving will replicate
The workings of your mind, and where awareness goes, energy flows,
Attracting the masks you bear to yourself, ready for identification,
or unconstructive dissemination, depending on the shade of light cast,
And the way you let your shadows fall, on this path of self discovery.
And the way you let your shadows fall, on this path of self discovery.
PrioriThought 2009
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