Heinous

Where does it comes from
The comparison of the one,
the dreams which call to all,
"Come all and see"
those features that you'll glean...
As you witness my face
and describe my place...

Test Product One

Death is a virtue, blessing, a motive within motion of art.
Engendering constant searching through forms that dissipate yet impart,
Evoked and astute- 
reasons failing to combine into fate.
Aligning the transfer between local points in the world of this space, 
that careens 
like a sheen of time which shall fall to sundered form.
Yet once born
she will glean our hearts in a witness as we mourn:
our wasted find... which abhors you...
-traced from all credulity faced-
pulled upon the line leading towards more young sundered creatures...
To see your face...

poem thing (hearts)

A story itself cannot show all this-
A mortal shell so fragile against the void
touched but for a moment,
and all the angels speak-
not the fables or lore of deeds,
or the coming of what shall be- 
yet the space itself: 
resting only in the heart of our soul, untouched-
waiting; awaits to be called-
to that very purpose beyond this world
weaved into us before our creation...
a seed of dreams seen only in the eye of the creator...
A fallen form redeemed not in works or claims
but in faith... without need.

darkness amoung the hills

There was a feature which invoked a sense within..
perhaps it was the silhouette of a tree against the night mountain sky.
Regardless, the meaning instilled a motive why that looker might carry on.

What great potency within this one, this human among humans, all themselves so very potent as well. Yet there in their dreams weaves a construct fit for motives gleamed from shows made in a tact which sets to persuade and distract. And enacted then in time, years or more for this to show, rises up a fallow feature in those quotas dreamed and sown. Desperation of the essence in the credulousness we wrought then does seek to wind it's righteousness in vagueness loaned and bought... from the forms encountered briefly as....

fuck it YOLO

Seeking the Source

Hello I am Kyle.

I write this blog.

IT comes and goes as you can see, now.

Of course, one cannot consume themselves endlessly and wrest out the patterned form.

Seeking the source.

k

Stay here for a moment in the essence that you see
and stray that vision henceforth from convictions of what be.
now let that gaze,
the mind and eyes,
become the world you now surmise
and catch your features laden with the motives that embellish this...
...distractions of abstractions
this absurdly toyed with muse
this beset, once able, now not but fabled, sense of what you'd lose.
and ruse, oh the rush
to lead astray and clutch and thrust,
to lust, then trust,
while seething alterations must
unleash, bequeath,
that narrow sense of who'd we'd find
yet time and mind together mend
the sense of death which we depend.

dgqey weryh rfdgh f

Who are you to have ever claimed loved towards me,
someone whom you’ve yet even seen..
but a fool you are, if when passing by, obsess and attest
that for me you would die.

But would you forgive me?
My credulity intact…
If I claim without reason to trail away from deceiving…

Stubbornly amused,
Seemingly lost a friend again,
caught up in the tangents.
so uncouth,
to ennoble ones self through an enmity loaned.
and intoned upon the able fact that without our pact
there would be no tract…
no able pinned feature to allure,
to distract?

How would you abstract in this world,
filled with truth,
‘pon these features we’ve gleamed as it seems to arraign in us
a meaning,  a trust…
Our personal tribunal of mutuality…