Sunday, January 1, 2012



O magik earth, I dreamt of you again.
The men who are bound by your Nature
Are getting ready, once more, to open the gate.
There is a family of imaginations here
To keep that gate open in your Honor.

I sat aside a rock which talked to me 
Of images of flyers, in the dark night
'These flyers' said the Rock 'are after you.'
'They belong to the 'Crooked One'
Who allows unforseen coercion to be his. 

He blinds himself hourly with his heart
His hybridised desire crushes his moment
Ego doesn't stand a chance with this tool
It is a tool of Blindness from the Never Never.
A voice of atrophy embedded in phantasy.

It introduces mediocrity into our divinity
It circumnavigates the hardness of mind.
It procreates with an abundace of me
It replicates everything except compassion
It is a feast of uncompasionate moments

I am truly content in growing, as 
I am truly content in knowing 
A depth to my obsevation, unattached.
Then my heart wretches itself, inwards
Century old pain is disconnecting from me.

Begging the pains pardon, 'We need to rest'
But we need to rest awhile, immediately.
Bind this monumental moment with forgiveness
Cross the line of understanding, to knowing
Replicate the pill of knowledge, then take it.

In letting go, I free the moment of itself
Then bathe in the mystik sunshine, daily
With other tired men, widowed men
Sipping surreptitiously, the acid rain of lies
Getiting drunk on deforming all sacredness

I am bare to embrace this with my imagination
Too bare for many words who take us to doom
We are 'Gods Children, not 'The gods children'
Protecting 'Mother of the Universe' daily
Imagining a mystical world 'free of fear'.

© David O'Brien 2012

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