Wednesday, August 13, 2008


From 'The Tower Room', by Lord David Of which well that I might drink to bring me to eternal sleep to dip my cup into that stream elixir of unending dream escaping mundane daily dross fashioned in a manner gross wherein each & every blade reflects how very stars were made in vision passing, fancy pure, that leaves me behind to endure when in slumber I have known lovers of no flesh and bone but gossomer and wind and sky of beauty such transcends the eye where pleasures endless multiply. Adventures of the strangest kind challenge limits of my mind senic vistas shift and change sea and mountain rearrange ride on wingback, fall and fly, breathe of color, feel with eye, yet waken to this morbid shell and leave behind what none can tell. Now separation takes it's toll passing faces grim and cold contact at it's best so fleeting each heart in a cage is beating. Touch, a mere and hopeless taste desire's greed has laid to waste whatever comfort offered there is soon dipped in rich despair a feast on each and every plate stuffed with solitary fate. Me, I shun this bitter taste rather a toast that I shall make bring me none for I shall wait for wine steeped long with opiate and dip my cup into that stream to plunge me into endless dream of that well that I might drink to bring me to eternal sleep.

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