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Image for the poem Myster[eye]

Myster[eye]


In lulls of white noise -
It moves down the heart,
In shades, of lava lamp
Shapes, perceptual escapes -

Unidentified evasion,
Neither spied nor espied,
Hidden away hermetic -
Clandestine, esoteric.

In wisps of whoosh leaves -
It leaves, transient
Vacancies in awareness,
Like withdrawn presentations

Calling forth solemnity,
As waving wand search lights
Seek out the secret -
Culmination diligence.  
Written by Cipher_O (WarlordoftheWrittenWord)
Published
Author's Note
I feel like there are spectrums that exist upon abstractions of wings, that move about in externalities of the self, that are actually internal...? Maybe I am trying to figure it out...  because I shore can feel it...  I think?  (This thing sort of runs the gamut from pain to pleasure, like painfully beautiful respiration.)
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