Welcome, and thanks for stopping here to read selections of my original poetry and prose. Only half my art is here. As you browse my puppets, words if you will, think of them as empty hulls whose dance and form are only animated in Play through my vocal conveyance of their characters and via my direction of their tone. Lyric to the ears, its whole message soon appears, in thus the conjuring of ancient daemons deep within to combat the evil ones brought up infernal by the Craft of ages can be our stage tonight.

On this blog the theme is AWAKENING and how Revelation is not some story plural in a Book but supposed to be one of yours in this lifetime. Here in verse I share with you my inquiry to which has bonded Muse.
YOUR STORY IS THE STORY. Their horsie four so full of holes they named that way just to have a laugh. Revelation and Creation coincide, they never stopped. A daily occurrence in a Live Show me is true Prophesy which I assure you, smells nothing like a library book, and for which no innocents are ever killed. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope you copy it to heart.

Bringing You Out of It

If you are enriched by Truth
and you are driven to empathy 
with open heart, 
then you will know the heavy burden it is now 
to carry virtue with you as you go. 

You are too full in meaningless times. 

Heavy is the head that wears the crown 
as the Snake coils in minions up, minions down.
No Kether light as feather
shall be known 
until all are free.

Grace, 
its weight in gravity 
must now be endured, 
for you carry what the others will need 
so very soon to be cured. 
It is difficult to move. 
The 'why' a palpable huge. 
A paradigm a dozen. 
Faith is rife with pain and angst holds angels to the rain. 
Slowing down, in entropy, they pass you on the ground. 

Inquisitors seek confession.  But you know 
there can be no room for vapid stories of made-up lies
of enemies you must despise, 
and you still refuse to accept imposters on these presented temperaments of Mother Gaia 
as true form. 
She knows her children are those wet with tears.

It seems you must even crawl to gain one day.
Persevere.  
Wonders are becoming! 
I know the laden down you, for I too struggle to move the Temple a tiny fraction closer to our home. 

Our Stonehenge of spirit lines up in the near to distant nox, 
and our shared shoulders bear the most important Light a beacon there in rocks
that must flare into Eternity at its rising hour. 

The prophesy not of clocks. Alarms. Alarms ...

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