the sky birthed thunder

my love with alarming splendour….

on the verge of suspension are cold seas, unmoved by the spectacle, bubbles of  birth; the dust is daisy-chained to send vibrations to waiting beliefs. the source of the lips and skin; wrinkles of the face plead to erupt in life.

a gentle Trinity in pensions, and love once more in the forefront of this affair - i love the bells and lights onece more with your breathing; it is my role. you are the moon, and i am driven to madness.

you are the truth about anyone, under unsung screams still on the edge of an atom. bursting at the folds with the body, the smell of life in what is believed to silence, in what could be grace. the clarity in despair is suspended, i with you on the edges of space.

i will trace our bed in silence, you will fill in the rest of the light… hands trembling to pray, bright and golden scatters a layer of reference as well as sounds in the halcyon sharpness. even the bells and electric lights tremble when breathing such love.

oh, to vanish like a trackless cloud! it is never possible to take note of all the circumstances which influence the mood of the moment, hence it is false to say that yesterday i felt resolute and now am in despair. it isn’t possible to breathe necessity exclusively because that would utterly suffocate a person’s soul - it happens that one desires to inflluence oneself, and as far removed from oneself as possible, hidden behind prejudices and fantasies, temporarily to create a new life.

nothing happens while one lives, language is only for ordinary emotions. extreme emotions are lost in the attmpt to reveal them; the beauty of the world is the mouth of a labyrinth. only sight is decieved, sometimes hearing - but when i seek to touch, the vision vanishes. despair is intensified in relation to the consciousness of oneself. it is enough for the nerves to be shattered, they are no longer moved by the senses, by things external, but by the inner will through which they create the image.

there must be a Providence, a God is not enough; he must see you. This still is not sufficient; he must love. I would become virtuous, sublime - only a very few need know it, but i want God at least to remain, the last refuge after everything else has failed. this is the watch by night, let us all accept new strength and real tenderness. at dawn, armed with glowing patience, we will enter the cities of glory.

everything is drowsing, but with tense awareness, as if in another moment all objects would shake off their slumber and life their voices in a choir of inutterably sweet harmony. their song would speak of the mysteries of life, would explain them to the mind, extinguish the mind like a phantom flame and whisk the soul up into the blue spaces of the night. the delicate tracery of the stars sings the same music of revelation.