DL (2/3/87 / Middlesbrough)

The Alchemists Kitchen

The Alchemist's kitchen
Riddled with dragons,
Symbolism lost to the erosion of time
Swealtering heat brings your pulse to the fore,
Feel the essense of life pounding in your eardrums.
Beat to the rhythm, Your wings may lift you if you try
Your songs, angels will sing for you if your cry.

Everything is lost, Still everything is shown, Woven threads by a hand unknown, incomprehensable to those that dwell too long in their science, be it art or the workings of the cosmos. The universe as one, unity, what is known by the void will be shown to those who do not dwell too long in practice, cease the reigns. Ride, Rise, Rose.

To lie, Embrace the shimmering glades,
Swooning inwards seemlessly,
Below the waning moon, dancing in the shade
Turning inward dreamily

Feed the daemon so we may feast, upon a hearty meal, upon the ale of yeast, Not least so we may slay the daemon to feed a thousand souls with the carcass of a beasts no one knows, knew as well as I, flesh torn from the hide. So far as he was, detached from the norm, still retaining a calm you'd least expect to rule the eye of the storm.

Dreams on sunken solitude, seem to feed an attitude of remorse for a life we moarn that has not yet passed.
Systematic malfunctions, Telepathic junctions, stuck in a jam, straight out of the frying pan into the fire.

What strange a life is this, some border line reality, some facard of bliss?
A kingdom lay benigh the surface, scratch it at your wish.
Kick the habit in the teeth, allow your mind some room to breathe
You need to understand, before you realise, you need to believe, before you wipe the red dirt from your eyes,
Stich his lips, you can't stop him dreaming,

Blissfully unaware of our own compexities, our own insanities, of a world turning upon the obscenitites of men, indignity to justice, done in justice's name, only shame, only rain falls in this land. The only light to my darkness, I must stamp you out, The only cure to my sickness I won't seek it out. The pace set in stagnation bording on regression.

Some Medicated drama, Karma Queen,
Of Irish blood, sink velvet eyes.

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Robert Frost

The Road Not Taken

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