The Book of Michael

I know I’m something different

Pre physics

Prolific, hieroglyphic inscriptions 

Like cutting cocaine on the Bible saying read between the lines

Metaphysical incisions inside the confines of my mind

Deeply dynamic

Static, but cataclysmic rapture

Facts hidden behind the empty seeds of time

Smitten for hitting the blinds

Gears turn and they grind

For women or cheddar or more or less when less is better

Cinders spit and spew unloading barrettes

In Barnes and Knobbles

Is it fact or fiction face a fable

New prescription for dictation to turn the table

Have you misplacing your ions

Getting heated from all that you rely on

Postpartum depression of freshness

Blessing disciples who freshen the flares

Staples capable of containing Kane and Able

Rare for he spoke

“That’s how I made You”

Born of nuclear reactions

My nucleus is maxim-

Us bust we trust

Angles and angel dust

Pagans it pains to trust 

Demons that drain through lust

Open up a vain for what’s about to occur

Sleeping with sin slipping into the air

let me emblazon your skin with

fire and brimstone 

to etch out the letters that spell my heart

inscribe the detailed memoirs of my emotion

into the bowels of your soul

a lone requiem of a passing tide

tidal waves of solace resonate 

as sound

a burden left to drift all to long ago

for what if the murmurs of passion had never come to be

what if you nor I had been uttered

an abomination of intrepid wonder

when luster ceases to dwindle 

the depth of “I”

bottomless 

but when it hits

it hurts
 

Trust in the words of men and you will undeniably be lead astray 

Deceived, as the acts of man are most reechoed and dubious

A most vile of incarnations

Self serving hordes of drones deaf to the problems and hopes of others

Trust in the words of gods an live as a drone

Self righteous, without rhyme or reason

For what make a god not a man, nor a man not a god in their own right

As men we believe we construct our own fates

Faith in our own being

To trust in a woman is to place faith in the most mortal of desires

Where desires lead to weakness, vulnerability and pain

A wicked path to walk

But to trust in a child, well it seems so unlikely 

But to trust in a child it to place all the faith and hope you have 

For,

A better tomorrow

What more can be hoped for

I wish to debate the philosophy of philosophy 

Actuality of the actual, physical interactions of metaphysical being

Metamorphosis of space and time, becoming an inevitability, more than an ongoing occurrence 

An existence of fate being fate-less

Where mass is neither a property nor gathering, but a differential 

Differences are to similarities, whereas similarities do not exist

But, unfortunately 

Simulating my own thoughts against their indivisible counterparts is all I come to attain

Where consumption and revel on such thoughts becomes the lore of mythos  

You need not agreed with an artist to believe that their creation is beautiful 

For is there not plentiful reason to disagree with our own

The same time that imagination becomes real

And God becomes something you feel

The Devil is recognized for his actions

As purveyor of order 

Bestowing punishment upon the wicked

A just cause

Righteous, but still burdening the weight of damnation

What is a hero in the eyes of a hero

Or yet a hero’s hero

must be that of their relation

Balance is not created solely by opposing forces

But better, by two of the same understanding their roles

And working to achieve common goals

In the eye of the night

When the moon reaches its peak

I see so far

Distances become time, as it moves

In and out of various microcosms 

I can bridge the folds of my thought in an Instant 

Only to have it reoccur 

A synchronization of the self

And perceived being 

Give me all of you, for I take and tear

Violently tear apart, bursting at the seems

Like a trophy trapped in an eternal gaze

Infernal

The grasp intensifies and I gasp

For air, and far between

A need, want

Does the difference between desire and love matter

No attonment as we’re driven apart

I dive head first into another presumptuous encounter

Rendezvous with retreat 

Should I return

Parabolas are of our heart, because we love chasing tales

Ups and downs coincide in love and lust, with or without 

Deeply seeded in devotion, the breaking of bounds and a story book ending

Natural to trace the patterns of deceit and despair,

But transparent once again we become

Such a lucid being, a fragile compass and no direction

Exquisite, elegant, without the slightest bit of esteem

Lacking studious qualities, membrance

An embrace of chance atop a chance for embrace

Inevitably knowing only one truth

Must come an end, to

To begin a new 

If I could die in the arms of an embracing life

Today, I would, to become born of eternity

… but that isn’t likely 

Facing constant depression is too difficult 

So I cover my tracks

In metaphor and alliteration 

Personification and simile  

And other types of disguises I can use

Passive agression 

Taken out on pens and keys

Labeled 

Art

Boats on the edge or the horizon 

Glide 

Peering over the mountain or morals

Untamed oceans of souls

As we cease the seas

Sights go blind

To dimmed lights

A frigate of emotions impales 

The dark

The grains flow, like waves from rolling gusts

Striking chords in time

How the pianist plays our song

Notes scribbled on the parchment 

An obelisk, bleek anomalie 

What is the proper nomenclature for heartbreak 

Tarnished memories

Roll in and out,

Like winds through a field

The grains in a picture