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MUSE LOG: The Muse Apprentice Guild |
Category: The Muse-eum 1 comment 12 Jun 2010 @ 06:46 by Matthew D. Horton @173.23.233.66 : I was sent here by a workshop reviewerShe, Lilith, is said to be the woman whom was created for Adam. She took flight from the garden, because, she would not lay down on her back for Adam's sexual position-missionary...This poem is a tying time, not by christianity and mythology, by the flight of Lilith's wings. Last modified: 08/19/2004 This is my age, my month of birth, as destiny is a relaxation of my mind. I stare at the star's pathways. My heartbeat is the thunder and lightning, storms of either side of the sun's ride. To contemplate life, the pounding inside is an ancient drum. The rhythmous places born unto my thoughts, extreme. So extreme, Lex Talion's rule is only one rule. To that I say there can be no amending the talon which came from my gumline, there is no additions to a sacred ruling. No thievery of ones rights and no tests to complete for any other drum, which is alive. Lex Talion, when the coming from the gums came to me, was a relief. A memory. A flood of feelings. The rush of my past, like the great flood was upon me-recently-as if my past were the tornado that grabbed me from this earth when I was a child. There is ONE rule to Lex Talion, and one only. This is the time which I am to speak. This is the time to begin, and, the rule of Lex Talion held me silent for thirty years of my life-as my birthdate is soon to arrive. Nota bene(note well)or n.I.b. is the dictum of a sacred coin. A coin placed well away from the hands of others minds. The coin that one once had burned into his palm when he walked away with the coin, thoughts cross my mind of those days. He gave me back a replica. The coin is useless to them that worship the gift to me from the Creator. A longing, sorrowful worship. Elven idolatry. Faces I see every few a day plus the years of my past make Lex Talion's truth bereftness:scholars. Economitry... I remember everything as the flickers above do lead me back to the stone arch in the sky. A place I stretch to, and with the drum of life. A place of heavenly instructions which left me replaced by a dead man's skull, to breathe every breath. To remember everything. To do all that is to be done. To produce the last chance, such as the talon's shape. A sliver. A link shape, a symbol which came to full circle right there in front of me. Like the moon. A place where last hours of darkness flew past again, and so close, one could've giggled with the sight of the spots eye to eye. I planted and squeezed the juices of an herb upon a twig of many stems. For us, and us as in you and your children, your grandparents, your futures, ancient prophecy-I did and I try without questioning plans set forth before me. To the creator above, I will produce the movie I am supposed to make by NO theology. Facts only. A global theme, maybe, if others souls do not lie or try to lie to their own drums of life. One thing for sure, those wings can fly so slow you may reach out and tickle the feet. They also fly so fast and seem to grow at this stage of flight, that even a tanka(buffalo)could be carried away with mach speeds unmeasurable by use of time or figure. I remember another time, wrapping my hand around the talon which carried me and a man's dying soul to the cave beyond river and plains. From this writing, I must now smoke, I must feel the sacred taste which flowers;thus, I must be the same as this writing of black and white to spread my soul to my fingers that are. My fingers that leave my mind's detail to the pages before others eyes. "Hoka-hey hey, Oh Ha-hey hey-I break apart the cluster of sacred hairs and leaf to write my words now, soon, yes, all will know why I came back to the earth in the same place at night." Breaks... To begin by saying blood is blood and tree is tree is not good enough for blocking all I've held inside. To say forgiveness is great or power is living is true, so learning:scholarly. Where to sway, that is not the problem. It is the path we are on. The direction of the world that means balance, so to turn around and around means I am looking up at the memories they tried to shock from this world inside-such as they... "Ani-tsi-s-qua" cannot be changed. One whom heard the noise once again, inside, and knows this name is me. Your talons have come and revealed herself, my eyes see. Now I know. Now I know. I have broke the chance, yet, have another. A fig root to plant. Shorter and wider, I sill not make the roots from the branch of another. The short tree is best. I will finish the block of storms. I'll plant the tree tonight. If there is a line of storms, everybody better get out of the way. For days when this short tree grows tall. There will be a wall to one side. Our motions will adjust with storms. Well balance, is that where the crow flies with the smokes sacred colors, smells in the night, tastes of pleasure or of pain-I know what they are. Feathers which fall to the earth. I have two before me. Small, yet they hold sounds of this world. Like lilith. Or the name above. A whistle men say, a whistle that will be such as one in reverse would be right. I will bring lilith to the front, revealing her eyes at me. I heard the whistle bounce from the world's floor. I'll aim the brances lower, that's all on could do today list. I'll try to slow the storms. I'll move on. I'll point the way to any whom cares about the squeal of the universe as the sound passed me by in the sky. Where birds fly by me eye to eye. They pass me. Such as the shadow marking the spot to plant the tree. The beginning...Shadows of the scenes, swaying. A mark so far away, like a movie screen. The picture and paths of our lives, now, that'd be boring. Global warming, white candles is all wax is to this world in the rain. The way to clear the screens for a diamond of impurity. The layers that swirl above us. Perfect life, that's not a plan from above-or humanity. Trying to drown, shocking me, as with sparks that danced by mankind, blue color. Overhead takes me back to the time I was checked by sacred fires. Was that a poisonous snake, while people watched once again, as I spake out, how many tests to have are nothing to count as I think at the stars. I said "leave me alone," once, I will not say that again. The talon has arrived from my gums. I have two hearts printed in stone and the ground of reflection, and they still say Nostradamus says things when I throw up a reflection, as wide and large as this whole world when bombarded by harmful rays while the sun set. Scars and burns in the grass. Shapes that sweep shadows, I'll make. And all I can do is move on, and paint the way when I go out to the world's ends of life, to hang, no, to help save life's life below. Carve sticks, whatever I must do to speak. Let them cut down the tree one day, to plant new roots that small and wide, those who live on sacred grounds. Let them see the pearls which magnets make in life. Diamonds in the stones of life. The perfect universe-hard cold, shiny... Cracks of earth that slide like me, as the earth's crusts below move like a dungeon that traps our ancestory and last name in traps, other languages of time. By archaeology. By writings. By wings in the night, and wings in the day, scattered memories and looking at stars. I know the spot to plant this tree. Then that's when an invitation of peace comes from a stick which walks with my blood to sacred artists. Artists whom saw me or had grandparents that saw me return to this world while I stand there on the cracks made for the roots of life and hear the rains. I will light the white candles of life. While an X shapes the shadows on the ground that pass in daytime with great speed, and another time with only noise. Where giants stood up from the clouds before me. The richest soils of the world, and blackest dirt. Then I'll move on. Then I'll move on to peace. First I'll speak to those with whom my daughter spoke to with my art carved on a stick. Whove heard of my storms and my life and creations. Then I'll have peace, knowing masks that could be. Knowing masks that came to me while flying with spirits, Ani-tsi-s-qua. I have no more tests on my life to take. I know what to do, who to be, what to say. I'll not be slashed, like souls underneath the clouds of life and death. Painting life, I paint my face to the sky. Walk with the clouds of life in day and night. Paint our body as a cloud- thus splits before cover. Like darkness and lightning. I say, Lex Talion, it is time for me to speak. Admit who I am-the unperfect because there are none perfect. One whom paints myself in the clouds. The past of dark tornadoes under the trees I stand underneath, are like the storms of life. Pictures of hearts burned into barks of the tree nearby reminds me. Reminds me of what to tell this world within scenes...Sacred spots on ground. Many things, wrong or right are before me. To learn everyday is all one can do in this world. Strive forward to be. Such as Lilith, such as Lilith's dreams-I listen to the breeze, To the roots about to grow into the earth's hole which cracks apart across this ground for miles. Earth's shapings. To learn and to teach all of the way is noteworthy. Worthy of poems. Of life. Of Lex Talion and of living..."To speak what I know." I'll plant the tree to quit writing... Written By: ~Matthew D. Horton Other musings in The Muse-eum 12 Jul 2004 @ 11:13: The Nameless 4 Jul 2004 @ 19:33: Moriae Encomium 14 Jun 2004 @ 09:43: Defying Gravity 7 Jun 2004 @ 18:15: The Stuff 25 May 2004 @ 10:51: Healing Israel/Palestine 28 Apr 2004 @ 12:14: Place Your Bid 3 Apr 2004 @ 17:08: The Hunted Sky 1 Apr 2004 @ 12:15: Orlando 21 Mar 2004 @ 17:55: Walking a Literary Labyrinth 17 Mar 2004 @ 16:54: Judariya
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17 Feb 2004 @ 18:50, by Tom Bombadil
