e_lighta_pray (e_lighta_pray) wrote in lived_before,
e_lighta_pray
e_lighta_pray
lived_before

Greece I am.


Where I am.

Everclear focus of my source and of with now, all the same in timeless being,

and deny this my wills tortures?

Immortal mind and timeless soul, where are your legends now? Immortal not, be you of this curse now?

My legends low and sunken in the felt of my fabric and textures.

Still with me eternal and yes sleeping hard below my senses.

How mesh I the separations of this incarnation rendered there upon my subconscious reasoning? My sallowed law.

How, here, can I unweave the woven dialect onto my own tongue?

Oh ascatten and afray my diaries unwritten, aflutter in the unruffle of my mind,

in my sleep, in my wake,

in my abstinence, in my authority.

Hear myself speak this?

Hear this come forth from my unweeping?

Hear me here?

Here be I.

This my face, this my hands, this my heart? Here, in this voice is all that I am recognized? Here in this speaking, forth from me, is where I know too much to fear. This be I. ... and woe be my name!

Oh so crucially lost am I . . . and safe.

. . . such of a safeness that this must be, it is, safe, it is.

How much is unpresent of myself?

Loathe I, the fear of my own arrival.

Does it come?

Detest me, inhabitants, I do invite it, but do not detsroy me.

Shrink back from me, I do allow it, but do not harm to me.

leave me . . . I so want it, but do not remember me.

aye . . and the world. Know you uncertain sky, that I am unbelonging?

Do you? Do you not? Should I then care? Why do I?

Why do I paint myself into your airbrush color, white the blue expulse and stable there beneath your fleeting moments?

Relishing I your ashen back pulse and movement under the stars watchful.

Immortal flesh, I say does not. She does not.

And here I approacheth the briming, nigh on into the years and

what shall it be for me?

What this then comes for me now?

What now comes for me?

Can I be left to wither?

Can I be left to fade?

Can this become?

Lithaea, betray me not.

Lithaea, wake me in the light and lessen me there for fright.

Lessen me, more the more, I pray you, lessen me.

Sacrlidge is for sin for my name . . . my name is lost, as I long to be there, relinquish thy stronghold on my everforth and unveil me into thy countenance for sacralidg and I shall die there for these sins not mine.

Die me, no.

I cannot.

Release me into afloat, in the light with not but all darkness surround me in there this silence and glitter hue, there leave me. leave me there.

Lithaea take me, my soul, take me my own soul, alone into that dark light, silver thine under the heart of pearl, bury me not, but leave us there for my hours thence are well endured and my mind there unfettered in autrocity and dichotom of an uneven nature. Lithaea, hear me my love, my friend.

And the third touch was numb and breathing well.

This too, is life.

Immortal sorrow, this too is choice.

Immortal law, this too is holy.

The place called Lithaea.

Where the holy indwell and breathe well.

Lithaea, my soul is your own.

Holy am I.

Where I am.

Everclear focus of my source and of with now, all the same in timeless being,

and deny this my wills tortures?

Immortal mind and timeless soul, where are your legends now? Immortal not, be you of this curse now?

My legends low and sunken in the felt of my fabric and textures.

Still with me eternal and yes sleeping hard below my senses.

How mesh I the separations of this incarnation rendered there upon my subconscious reasoning? My sallowed law.

How, here, can I unweave the woven dialect onto my own tongue?

Oh ascatten and afray my diaries unwritten, aflutter in the unruffle of my mind,

in my sleep, in my wake,

in my abstinence, in my authority.

Hear myself speak this?

Hear this come forth from my unweeping?

Hear me here?

Here be I.

This my face, this my hands, this my heart? Here, in this voice is all that I am recognized? Here in this speaking, forth from me, is where I know too much to fear. This be I. ... and woe be my name!

Oh so crucially lost am I . . . and safe.

. . . such of a safeness that this must be, it is, safe, it is.

How much is unpresent of myself?

Loathe I, the fear of my own arrival.

Does it come?

Detest me, inhabitants, I do invite it, but do not detsroy me.

Shrink back from me, I do allow it, but do not harm to me.

leave me . . . I so want it, but do not remember me.

aye . . and the world. Know you uncertain sky, that I am unbelonging?

Do you? Do you not? Should I then care? Why do I?

Why do I paint myself into your airbrush color, white the blue expulse and stable there beneath your fleeting moments?

Relishing I your ashen back pulse and movement under the stars watchful.

Immortal flesh, I say does not. She does not.

And here I approacheth the briming, nigh on into the years and

what shall it be for me?

What this then comes for me now?

What now comes for me?

Can I be left to wither?

Can I be left to fade?

Can this become?

Lithaea, betray me not.

Lithaea, wake me in the light and lessen me there for fright.

Lessen me, more the more, I pray you, lessen me.

Sacrlidge is for sin for my name . . . my name is lost, as I long to be there, relinquish thy stronghold on my everforth and unveil me into thy countenance for sacralidg and I shall die there for these sins not mine.

Die me, no.

I cannot.

Release me into afloat, in the light with not but all darkness surround me in there this silence and glitter hue, there leave me. leave me there.

Lithaea take me, my soul, take me my own soul, alone into that dark light, silver thine under the heart of pearl, bury me not, but leave us there for my hours thence are well endured and my mind there unfettered in autrocity and dichotom of an uneven nature. Lithaea, hear me my love, my friend.

And the third touch was numb and breathing well.

This too, is life.

Immortal sorrow, this too is choice.

Immortal law, this too is holy.

The place called Lithaea.

Where the holy indwell and breathe well.

Lithaea, my soul is your own.

Holy am I.

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