Spiritus Amoris Ad Astra

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Thousands of years across, edges of tomorrow’s blend to break in attempts to breach through fair plains,

Out of time, out of tries, losing grasp, an undivided coherence twisted to rot in death by survival, among the fittest,

Fit to salvage for what’s worth, a moment to reflect, to shelve the cost, of self sabotage, risk it all & remain estranged,

From a sinister slave drive, built to suspend second chances, that sent into oblivion everything precious & craves its end in sanctimony,

~

Throats parched, sing in praise, of a spirit leading forth, beyond an earthen plane, & questions eternity,

What might, what splendour, love swept aside to reach through to these lows, the gutters of the soul,

Blind to fear losing, it’s treasured visage of the human, being a potent token of perfection unbeknownst,

To a self, nor its command, This throne primed to coalesce worlds apart, serves secundum et sanctum sanctorum.

Thermal runaway

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The source of this life, redeems itself by design, when the world denies its obvious sustenance, and the ethereal describes this as purpose to accept fate and yet fight to it’s own end,

To reclaim every chance of failure as perfection compromised, yet to be achieved in essence, its organic components immobile to circumstance and a means to vent,

I believe it satiated a true nature & all it’s congruent oblivion, that tends to absorb the lowest fruit that hangs to descent, beyond all recognition of where it began,

Nor where it could ascend, a peace that reigns in complex states of equilibrium, second to none, that might necessitate an order to chaos or conscious resuscitation in turn decimating a deteriorating trend,

An inception of this cause, deserves a better means to belong, to find safety in the demise, to save the most lost, a story that unfolds the ages of this world as a scalpel it stole to cut through ties and the sense’s that control,

A mortal life that deserves a majestic combustion, an immortal one that yielded to another’s judgement, seethes for second chances, in an image to have tamed ambition.

Damned be poetic justice and alliterations,

Earthed into Entropy

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Just a function of quid pro quo, reason seems to indulge in all forms of order to encapsulate,

Conclusions fit for life as a wave function, beneath miniscule particles of a probability in persistence,

Interactions of it all held captive by an active decline to a point from whence it all came into being significant,

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Edges on to an adrenaline drive, a cumulative grasp of the now escapes from this entropy,

All things considered, and all deterrent possibilities conflagrated, it’s reach remains irreverent,

Through one emergency into the next consequence of life’s need to pursue ashes that need be reborn

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Chaos has its harmony set in stone in the processes played out by it’s parts senseless & blind,

‘Synced in’ or confused, the losses are an addiction taking hold on spontaneity committed to decline,

In inadequacy or gratuitous diligences, a finite thin line is traversed within the gravity of loosing hold on anothers limits,

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Reality unsettling though it may be, is grounded by the perspective granted neath their rock bottoms,

Entropy as it devours, improves the odds of synergy in primitive systems of a metered dose society,

In it’s purest form, everyone must be saved, but not everyone will be, & life’s function is to blame.

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100 miles to go

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A sense of separation imbibes as i exhale yet another draft of life once bestowed,

All that empowers a self has to have inspired it all without a mediocrity that slaves this vice,

One that was wrought in the dark, absence of knowing a fate happiest while in play as it eventuates,

Positivity in the course of things to come, and my reflection tends to slither past in silence, still,

Seething on a grand gesture from hope as it exalts the being of a human stirred to perform at its pinnacle,

Self involved eloquence of good vibes, tormented souls know quite well to not get too acquainted or else realise,

It will create or absolve, as the blood reciprocates, for a desperate measure of control,

Over the inanimus grave of rationale built along humanity to rule an obstacle course,

fuck all wonderland’s intended to cure any recessive strains off of mercy in power absolute,

Through a hundred miles to go, till the clocks wound tight,

When suffering credits its course with each, selflessly on its own,

An antidote to engineer poisons, treats, just as suffering ought to seek the most deserved of us all,

In set poise or permanence, time will tide over satisfaction that lets any blame encroach,

Beyond the point of no return to baseline, may all others be saved, lest, the only known left behind is a belonging to function or fate.

Giving up a sceptre

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The dysfunction built on prominence curates an authority of function over existence,

Powers etch gravity through sacrilege in each extension of a self conducted within,

Hierarchial status quo’s that deem solace felt as begotten to mutual regret,


Life , as written by grasping what it invokes in a future that reaches out to concede,

When it elevates the spectacle of change to poise & drain engaged if only in a few moments,

Working against patience with every breath, the passing of an inevitable disconnect & redesign of instinct,


It chides beneath, a lack of vision to things that are yet unknown but palpable nonetheless,

Hoping on a distant weariness that grows until it consumes itself to discover strength,

& fit the answer that instills an infallible bliss for each rekindled quest to decode oblivion,


All that reach must exist is to surrender, a perfection that blooms & wanes at the void over to another.

A dysfunctional totem

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Always a reason to ride the wave, one after the other in a childish embrace,

For what fortune could one find in another’s perspective over selfworth trailing behind,

And yet to understand one’s own doing, is left to concern by a price weighed against experience,


Purpose to go on, it says staring with blank eyes at every source of my discomfort,

Destiny, this disenchanted harmony, becomes the impedance of all things to be,

Why scream oblivion at an eroded desert for the dunes to regress unsatiated,


To never truly know, the absolutes that do persist despite all differences,

For what they are, an observer as the objects only deterrent uncertainty,

Can’t be confirmed nor denied in existence, if only to keep motives pristine.

Vessel of lights

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All the matter in a world that couldn’t fill it’s contours quite like an intoxication,
It’s silent premise of mere sense as a cause to contain in itself an equilubrium,
Keeps out of reach, a perfect solution, reasons to reconfigure practice as owned,

Not to leave the shelter shut, or shadows cast just might entertain possibilities,
To serve in haste the thirst that’s quenched either ways from now until emptiness,
Satisfy an expanding brim when it sets forth to colder ends in all certainty of control,

Every measure of this, each note beating to a flame that floats across the edges of curiosity,
Claiming for penance a freedom set to start again over horizons left of a trained eye’s beyond,
Speaks for all else when moments are fulfilled in a time that keeps tune through a surface tensed,

A statement of monstrous purpose deems the void worthy of resonance within this scuttle unknown,
Mildly conflicted by any absolutes aimed out of sight to behold as beautiful is to undivided coherence,
In ways of a sky lantern shedding light to capricious lives which engage with the seasons as they thrive.

Meaning of shite

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A subtle distinction between an approach to the disengaged spontaneity formed from all the views accumulated between inception & the infinite,
And it’s alternative where each presentation is the piece of a moving target which distorts any view of synaptic architecture in evolution,

Where one consideration treats in simultaneous conformity that only defines existence out of control against any ends in sight,
The other begs to become every other understanding of life than losses accounted for, in a multitude of causes to observe from,

Space and time exists if only for the ride

possessed

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Deeper from within, even colder still, austerity of the occasion alone paints pitch black in passing,
Frozen, versatile festerings of an elated moment wasted not long ago seems all too tainted, is set free,
In momentous disregard found beneath the stones of a kingdom lost, as everyone suffers through equally,

Abstract zones of quiet display, of which many versions seem overwhelmed by the love for a hatred quenched,
Never quite given a face or shape to what hatred truly is, trivialized as the ingrained task of breathing asleep,
Ever vexing & kept fixated on errors to isolate a piece of the prize that’s meant to be conquered in essence,

Keeps this threshold never crossed, even against the odds aligned, its relentless use aids only to amplify,
As the inclinations to circumvent, converge to raise its stakes through for new heights of satisfaction or distaste,
I believe, left to perfect views of an equation otherwise left sundered by its reality aimlessly bent on breaking even.