The epic, fancy free from introspection underlying dream, untouched by life and all its constant sundry imperfection - the voiceless note which sounds without a fife in flight profound, subconscious free from fear, traversing and transcending crass, mundane the artfacts and artifice of here the avarice antagonist of pain a world which can contain it, deathless, still retreating from this world it isnt of. A sculpted god cant know of friendships thrill and spill - it nothing knows the pull of love. Of whim composed, perfection one cant feel and cant give the rewards of something real. ar
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The world you choose to live in - your selection,
free to pick a system bursting rife with forms with which youll never know connection,
wounds you cant inflict with dreamings knife
Why choose a world refusing to appear?
With interaction thus, youll go insane
with understimulation, whereby near
and all around a world is granted, plain,
but simpleness wont make a man go ill
so long as he can dream of things above
a world of function, cool and without frill.
And yet our world contains both rose and dove -
these symbols links to worlds beyond ideal.
These cherished grains of sentiment we steal.
artwork by argon
poetry by cthulu