deepundergroundpoetry.com

Ab epistulis

I wrote this while standing proudly onside great concourse,    
guided by famous works and words from the heart of the master.    
This body of mine is exhausted with little lethargy, to stride    
forever onwards into the dark fog that covers the eyes,    
becoming restless and pacing, writing with poetic discipline.
   
No life is saved when swords clash, yet words kill more.    
     
I shall somewhat preach vaguely, for hearts to learn, love and live more.    
Accept not yet knowing, the names of friends which you meet on this concourse,    
but with time and countless repetition, some of them think to define discipline    
by teaching the rules of every behavior, that is, the neophyte becoming the master.    
At last he shall see bountiful skies, vast oceans, forest fires and dirt filled eyes,    
she shall take in information quickly then walk merrily with a great passionate stride.
   
     
My name you shall learn with some time; follow my footnotes, follow my stride,    
follow your reaction, follow our pride. Worry not for petty things, fill yourself with love more,    
for they guide the beacon, they knock on your door, they sing you songs, please your eyes,    
your friends and companions help us survive. All come together in a grand concourse,    
action, reaction, fate, life force. Whatever the reasons you call yourself master,    
apprentice, fool or mortal man. Remember you yourself have set your own discipline.    
     
So much talk, so little to show. Wanting only the best one must judge with strict discipline;    
They cannot change, they always are like that, this and that. Stop brush off this stride.    
May it happen slowly or quickly; change will come. One day shall come, ending the master    
and then new masters will be born. A endless loop running, dancing, drifting and more.    
More things can happen, there is only one course. Innumerable and frequent concourse.    
Lets return to the eyes; for they are what lead us and lie. Them horrid and wonderful all seeing eyes.    
     
The eye that sees all, be it God? Or need she not sight, seeing but wonder via his eyes.    
What would it see, imagine it now. Write, scribe, talk or make a new discipline,    
one with great wisdom. Build an army they shall shield you from countless concourse;    
Collections of friends knocking down doors. All exhausted with large lethargy yet they stride,    
yet they fight, yet they laugh, yet they cry. What could you possibly want more?    
Calming waters, peaceful times, skeptics and singing birds. Many must become the master.    
     
So much talk about them. That wonderful person, holy is his name. My master,    
my lord, my lover, my child, my insight. All were fully not yet equal, but still in her eyes.    
Silent watcher, zealous raving, past-time fun filled slavery, future blessed emptiness and more.    
Some words offend, others cause thought, I pray you challenge all my words. Become disciplined.    
Maybe you enjoy strict boundaries which are almost free and within walking distance to stride,    
remixing emotions to fit on your side. Find a crowd to walk with in this universal concourse.      
     
--.. --- ... / -.- .. .- / -.-. ..- .-.. - ..- ...        
      
Embedded onto electrical surges by Infernus,        
Inspired greatly by all great works I have seen and heard.        
      
A chaotic collection made into one.
Written by Infernus (Infernal Insight)
Published | Edited 17th May 2015
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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