Sunday, 18 May 2008

The Illegal Impression

The forbidden cult of the underground poets.
A true escape haunts both of these eyes
For never can the world know now
Of what did pass, in time untold
The practice was strange, a selfish act
To keep one's mind on the plane of sanity and reason.

But if ever these tools did reach another's eyes, or ears!
It was forbidden by all who knew, that is
Who knew that they must not know
For the sake of every other.
A volatile equation convinces them of the futility of pale reason.
It cannot compete in err or triumph,
But how could it?

An example is drawn when eyes are closed again.
The individual sense explains our death rite.
Must not speak.

Do you know the trees? Describe them.
No. Describe them truly.
How do they impress themselves upon you?
What can your person do to change me?
Now you understand the unspeakable darkness.

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