Untold Ghost Dreams

Patch up my ghost dreams,

My brain is a furnace of melting suns,

Although we know what we are,

But we know not who we might be,

As I shake the spear which stabs the empty desert of a page,

Allow me to drown into my veins,

To decrypt the message behind what you call vain and chain me within the cabinet of my thoughts,

I need to feed on the deeper manna hidden within the mysteries of the unseen self,

I need to hold my infancy on my palm to pluck my heart from the depth of my boney cage,

Now let me bow down to this journey called life, for a swinging pendulum is born,

I need to watch my worth in front of my face to watch the self that leaves most of us believing in the phenomenon of love,

I need to explode, implode and explore the truth behind a multitude of poets’ odes and the elderly lores,

Allow me to fade into that lucid night to see the dark light beyond the sense of retina,

Allow me to enter the fringe to clutch divinity through the inner palm which reaches out of the unseen,

This is the true unseen path where the soul, the okra, the aura learns to walk on,

This is the wilderness of those who know how to craft their own forms, deformed beings like water,

I can now take everything’s form, because a chameleon’s effect shed off the defects,

Now the sky fumes out the pigment that may blind the living eye, becoming a nucleus that keeps radiating the nuclear energies,

Everything is a true fallacy, nothing is a false fallacy,

For at the end everything is a righteous facade, and our genotypes shrivel into mere false sequenced genomes.

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