i have no offering.
i have but a soul; weary and incongruent as the equation
that placed me a celestial being inwith this perpendicular universe
of chaos in order
to parallel the past onto the next..
i have but the eye of God burned
into my brow; looking at myself in moonwater reflections,
tears rolling down the center of my face,
there is but a pale and shallow pool
of hands to drink my sorrows
or throw o'er my shoulders
the sweet, bitter taste of knowing
without actually knowing.
i have but the mind of a man;
hopelessness lingers at the edge of all reason,
civilisation having seperated me from the dust
i blew in as, but,
one day i may return to it.
i have but a mouth
full of tongues i cannot speak
except for to say "you are beautiful"
except for to say "i am nothing"
and to howl out at the night
only to be hoarse by morning;
the sound of lips penetrating the void
gets tired and careless
so let the tongue be careful
in its upward stroke against dense
no longer is there room in my mouth for
dare i speak, may there be meaning
dare i speak, may it be an offering, a projection
of this earth being parallel to some heaven
No, i have not an offering,
but a long-winded plea for a gift
to be granted upon my tongue
or in the bottom of the ocean
that i may find it as a dwelling
in the nakedness of
one last breath
pointed upward, toward the moon.