The Breath Between The Mist Poem, by lucaso, at My poetic side

Little boy, weeping over your mother,

How pathetic that you disregard nature

And try and hold her as she goes on!

How sad for you that any articulation

Is met the hatred of a reflection

That shows itself once the beginning ends!

And nothing comes close…

The sky is painted by the shadows you chose,

The torture of only winning as you lose!

But, little boy, you know as well as I do

That you’re the joy of a mother who grew

To face herself as something new.

You weep because you can never exist,

Only as the son you see this, before it’s all missed

And the revival of humanity begins again, a breath between the mist.

And nothing comes close…

The sky is painted by shadows you choose,

The freedom of winning as you lose!

Author: lucaso ( Offline)
Published: January 31st, 2018 17:15
Comment from author about the poem: Hey guys! Just a simple poem to end, and I mean finally end, posting on here. I've been struggling for the past few months because I've experienced whole body visions for nearly a year but have failed to implement them in the way I wanted do -- this is is due to an Inversion Reaction to an Egoic state which begins to become the questions it asks rather than nothing in between. Sheer idleness and depression has forced me to torment myself with poetry and even acting, purposely not reaching the state I desire -- the future has grown dull and I watch my blood chug over the ruins and chasms of the bones of my youth without any promise my dreams will be had. But, only because once the dream is true then there is no reality. This is a childhood-egoic function which is obsessed with the own idea of itself, an illusion/delusional preservation of itself which seeks solely to destroy. However, since I was 15 I've had the idea of Kairos which i decided better be called Sola Virum a few months ago -- This will be the next time you see my writing in print. If you'd like to see some epics and free verse I wrote when I was 16 and some in 17, then you can message me but I don't know when I'll be back. Pieces like Aria of Autumn and Alice's Last supper will allow one to access the 'Poetic Language' i have finished creating. -- Why did Rimbaud never release it? This all seems so natural to me -- this is the sword through the heart, really. The fact that this is all I have ever known. Have I come from a different planet? Everyone seems so alien. I remember vividly as a child creating what could never be seen. But now, all I see is my future. And my future is love. It just's makes me ask the question -- what will you become? See you around guys. I've drove myself insane for too long, It's time to drive humanity insane! To wake them up! The Grand Embarrassment is the Grand reconciliation. Anyway, time to change the world. The Book will be finished when I'm 20 and it will contain new literatures and techniques, new in the sense that I've never seen them before, and some personal writings and how to get to higher dimensions. A lot of it will probably be released before it's actually published. Ahaha who knows -- anyway! Enough procrastinating...time to seize the Sun! If I never see you, I'm within you. You never saw me anyway. Remember, it's all love, pure love - whether it is thought, or if we live in a simulation, or we're all aliens on a mad trip, (or all 3 combined...) the answer can only be love -- and if it isn't, if it can be proved, then what makes it? It makes love invincible. Love is so by the virtue of itself. It's an Untouchable Idea. Even calling it an idea negates it. Like God, or Real. It is offended by negation for it is the factor negating it. Who do I think I am you ask? Who do I ...... who does I? think I am ...... I am thinks! ...... you ask?...... ask you what?....The Breath Between The Mist.. 3 types of moon tonight --- 3 types of locks to unlock! And the 4 as one holding them together! The magic of 7 ---8 ! To a whole system of 9! One thing is certain, I will never be the same again.
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