The World Warms Up But Only To Rain On Us : The New Rainbow

Pharoahs and their servants. The golden rod bequethed to the chosen one, to the one with the young tight skin hugging her face. A golden snake hidden in a bird's nest, unknowing of its doom. A failure like all of us, thinking that the prize is life and not death. The talons will grip us all in the end, and the sharp points will cut deep into our mortality. Golden blood swirling in a crimson bowl, an orange streaked wind in the silver sky carrying the pious scent to the catacombs of our ancestors. Nothing can be stopped as everything is in motion, a whirling epicentre of all life. Silver buddhas gleam their black decaying teeth as their laugh, etched into stone, echoes to the beating of distant drums. As silver is amiss, so is time, as the blanket that is pulled over our heads hides us from the bronze horizon ever lurking to push the sun into our watery eyes. So empty, so cold, so distraught.

Collision aftermath. Sparks flutter away in a spiral course, chasing eath other's trails of fallen tears. Creation. We are smiled upon, drying the tears so the land can become fertilized and the lifeless hot sparks are given wings. These are the white moths, luminating the gripping dawn as we all awake to a new beginning, raising the newborn effigy to our gods.

Praise yourself for we are all the new gods born from the old. Love yourself, truly love yourself and watch your skin dissolve away to reveal only energy. Energy of motion is the energy of will, we are made of the universe, a spectacular fractal to the nth degree.


xero blogged on 7/30/2005 05:30:00 PM


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