Question is, how do I start this? Ain’t sure if this here piece be a 16 bars or a guitarist symphony speaking through a poem that my ink stained fingers scripted.
don’t sink in the wet sand, stride slowly past manifested evil to avoid this, here is the mystical sense that approaches, angle of death standing right, close to me, slide through as the Arc angle on the flip side of him left, is it meant to be? Or is it a part of me, when I stare out into the clear galaxy, my reflection is pure basic mortal, not a semi god, but a gifted Oracle, walk on this earth mystic like the flaming Phoenix, now in this century like the modern matrix, Defying all odds, rules of human physics. my thoughts stay clear, slight forgery of the Mona Lisa. few strokes the paint brush makes you come to terms with life or it’s paradox, be it summer or autumn, a Snow White paradise, winter or storm. His grace, the almighty keeps me calm, in the centre of it all. Take a step back and listen, These are steps I take when I can’t pay rent, steps I take when I don’t have a cent, this is when these words come to place, take shape, breathe in life and take flight. this is when religion of all kinds takes place, corrupts feeble minded, divide its so called brethren, destroys and eventually kills all men. this when you find God in cell block, locked in your own fate. Close your eyes, let the Lost Suns scriptures sink in, these Demigods words…the Lost Suns words.. peace to the gods.
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