Silence Of Lost Time
© Surazeus
2018 07 20
When I sit still on the hill among trees
and feel sunlight weaving soul in my flesh
I float in sweet pleasure of serene faith
till I vanish in silence of lost time.
While gazing at the world of growing things
I remember what the priest in church said,
that some giant craftsman outside world sphere
created all things from ideas he designed.
The world I perceive changes day by day
in relentless transformation of matter
that flows thick through standard ideal shape,
swelling from seeds to dissolve back to dust.
Things transform through repetition of action,
regenerating replicants of bodies
in constant cycle of new life and death
in steady patterns of material change.
Every day I repeat rituals of action
to preserve my body with strict consumption
by working to cultivate and harvest
material that sustains glow of my soul.
I hold up the book of philosophy
written by the sage Soren Kierkegaard
and read to the trees and birds his concept
of repetition recollected forwards.
"If God himself had not willed repetition,
the world would never have come into existence.
He would either have followed the light plans
of hope, or he would have recalled it all
and conserved it into recollection. This
he did not do, therefore the world endures,
and it endures for the fact that it is
a repetition." I look at the sky.
I feel waves of light flowing through my soul
and laugh with delight when I realize
every day I sing a new song of life,
repeating old words to conjure new visions.
Each song I compose from flow of ideas
I weave into tapestry of perception
expressing formulas of interaction
that cause facts of construction and destruction.
I recollect the actions I repeat
and perceive how my environment changes
then sing spells to express what I envision,
hoping to recreate the world I want.
When I sit still on the hill among trees
and feel sunlight weaving soul in my flesh
I float in sweet pleasure of serene faith
till I vanish in my song of lost time.
© Surazeus
2018 07 20
When I sit still on the hill among trees
and feel sunlight weaving soul in my flesh
I float in sweet pleasure of serene faith
till I vanish in silence of lost time.
While gazing at the world of growing things
I remember what the priest in church said,
that some giant craftsman outside world sphere
created all things from ideas he designed.
The world I perceive changes day by day
in relentless transformation of matter
that flows thick through standard ideal shape,
swelling from seeds to dissolve back to dust.
Things transform through repetition of action,
regenerating replicants of bodies
in constant cycle of new life and death
in steady patterns of material change.
Every day I repeat rituals of action
to preserve my body with strict consumption
by working to cultivate and harvest
material that sustains glow of my soul.
I hold up the book of philosophy
written by the sage Soren Kierkegaard
and read to the trees and birds his concept
of repetition recollected forwards.
"If God himself had not willed repetition,
the world would never have come into existence.
He would either have followed the light plans
of hope, or he would have recalled it all
and conserved it into recollection. This
he did not do, therefore the world endures,
and it endures for the fact that it is
a repetition." I look at the sky.
I feel waves of light flowing through my soul
and laugh with delight when I realize
every day I sing a new song of life,
repeating old words to conjure new visions.
Each song I compose from flow of ideas
I weave into tapestry of perception
expressing formulas of interaction
that cause facts of construction and destruction.
I recollect the actions I repeat
and perceive how my environment changes
then sing spells to express what I envision,
hoping to recreate the world I want.
When I sit still on the hill among trees
and feel sunlight weaving soul in my flesh
I float in sweet pleasure of serene faith
till I vanish in my song of lost time.
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