My Writings

World Builder

When you can go no further, open the wine bottle, where I drained the serpent tongue. Venom carried since the cradle, in your own veins. Never held close, to anyone’s heart, not even your own. Starved, born of naught. Appreciated from a distance, as an actor on a stage, projected, on the wall. A world of hands extended, but not for me. To tell you what I saw, and how I felt, the canvas of the world is narrow.

But lines are there for those who can read between them. Told earnestly, I am the Void behind a mask. Blind distance, absence, lack of substance, and matter. Stripped of ego, a silent body, in the play of life. A sculpture, begging to be real, a carrier of soul.

A black streak of paint to obscure a sunrise – I emit no light. A receiver – I listen, intently, conversations of agreement. The word yes. The sound ja. Negotiable reality. Conviction is a mighty weapon.

In my being, there is room to breathe. Self-sufficient, selfish, in a small way, omnipotent.

Be alone. Stand still. Be alone. Rise.

World Builder.


Related posts

My Writings

Land of Ing

I was a student, in the Land of Ing, the great and powerful, the fertile. I adopted its tongue, speaking sweetly to my soul. Self-e...

My Writings

A Conquered Summit

What stands before me, is the realization of the individual, and its establishment, in the world. The end of a cycle, a path that circ...