One Reply to “Electronomicon/PsiBorg”

  1. Climbing the hill from the backside, at the rear of it
    Are owls in fellowship, three maybe four in concert
    Calling out; nature in the season of the dance. Blood
    Flows hot, but in the air is moisture from the
    Coming storm. The gathering chaos in the west speaks
    Understanding, foretelling of the rise, exodus
    And the gathering, of thought and energy, brewing,
    Spinning, just as the air from the raptors on the wing
    Magik and soft secrets, ghosts in the night, listening
    And watching, there is understanding and a knowing
    Making the hush matter so much more, fallen brothers
    The undone icon, surrendering to defiance
    And the sleeping giant, coming up the rise, stirring
    The picture was of a dream, and then a renascence came
    Strolling languidly up the manmade rise, there were three
    Nurturing, contemplating an eternal problem
    Quietly in the cold and silence, a reunion
    Was broken, and a dream grew stale. The reality
    Was the final undoing, and then the making, calamity
    Was coming fast and so very real, but then it was
    Hellish and painted and the substance diaphanous
    Something of the will; a wicked intent. The dreaming,
    A stop, making the world take notice, then the changing
    Came quick and naturally. Hand in hand after it
    The breaking and the injury. When the truth came out
    Believers were baffled and took notice of it, the
    Bearing, unheard of, and the carrying of the weight,
    Sore from it. The carry all alone, repairing all
    The damage that was left in his wake. Now comes the truth
    Of things. But the reality is sad and stark. Dawn
    And the light is golden, and streaming, and two brothers
    Were undoing and dancing in it. The fire of the flag
    The beauty in it was strange and startling. Now, the fames
    Are smoldering, and making a heat all to intense
    For the controller to understand, or even bare
    Right then the world stopped and slipped; then the cold came crashing
    Down on me. In ignorance, jealousy something
    To small, making a petty kind of evil. I go
    For the gusto. Naturally, the dragon will brood
    And write upon the remedy, the community
    Starts stirring. Awakening and uncoiling, then
    An old soul rises. A young dragon stirs, awakens
    With a purpose, and breathes fire upon them. Believers
    And broken, the ender is upon us! The pieces
    Are in place the remedy is wild. And time will not
    Act as it should, slipping, and tripping, turning, burning
    And naturally the young ones are learning the game
    While the teacher spins it, the cohesion, tying
    Off with sharing, energy spilling, and showing through
    And then they noticed something, stillness, and peace in it
    Maybe it was exposure to eternal, maybe
    The anarchistic kind of zen that flows from the fount
    Could the natural reaction be peace in the storm?
    And then the insanity ensued, a phony, climbs
    The walls in public, believe you me, the memories
    Undo the damage, such artistry, makes the stars fall
    The song remains the same, just remember the darkness
    What is left is emptiness in the moment, hollow,
    Cold, then the anger and heat, the sound of joy coming
    Through, like angels singing; the sound, exalted, ecstatic
    Undone beauty, lost in smallness, and a wretchedness
    This sleeper has awakened again. They’re ready when
    The merger activates a sequence not yet heard of
    The unknown is delightful as memories, fleeting,
    And ghostly, then the light comes shining through so softly
    And sweetly. Of one thought, and single mind, the people
    Are taking off the reigns and gathering in their strength
    We have an understanding and something so much more real
    The love flows freely and fiercely from the forever
    War was waged and quiet descends, the people, watching
    Untoward and waiting for the dragon to ascend
    Open the flood gates and bend the hydra to his will
    But this demon has fire they mutter, utter praises
    Now a young master will spin his web. The changing
    Will come with the undoing of the hand written thing
    Now for the darkness, attempts at stoppage rendered nil
    Null on the altar. The silence crashes, deafening
    And the undoing stops with the strength of love, ruling
    The muse is memory, and the tragedy makes it
    So much more real and the circle spinning free
    Rich in heritage, the crashing like feathers; lashing
    Is enigmatic and ethereal. Dance my heathens
    Revel in anarchy and freedom. The moon will watch
    And smile. The reality is this, change, necessary
    And needed will come either way. Watch the young ones play
    The maestro. Conducting a symphony all their own
    The energy, joyous and pure, rapturous and real
    Now the xero bends low, flying and crying it out
    The wild wicked, unknown siren call of family
    The rebel yell is natural and needed, now
    Only more so than ever. Empty, give the call
    The order of the day is resistance. Give them hell
    By degrees. Making it hotter with every eye
    Opened. When the nine converge the world will stop and stare
    Heaven’s gates will open, emptying the warriors
    Strike the head of the hydra my wretched and abused
    And spurn that hypocritical purity living,
    In stone, under houses. Use the machine, making
    A new world. Mad and beautiful, strange and wonderful,
    But with an unheard of grace. We are the true masters
    So stand, and make your heaven real, behold it and feel
    The truth running through you blasphemous, and very pure

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