The Language of Self
Trying to decipher the language of self-stumbling on shards of mythborn hope
and all I come up with for the effort
is a childrens tale for ancient children!
The story etched by hands shaking...
etched in a language so old and distant
that only the heart/mind that defies
all passing of time
can speak it at all with any ease.
Words forged diligently like the katana...
designed-dreamt-deployed like viscious
war implements-forged in the fire
of a Mind frenzied by desire and fear.
Mind stretching out in every direction;
a concept littered battleground-
an infinite charnel wasteland
of broken ideologies and tattered dreams;
Mind turned in on itself as it works
and works at the koans of life-
and forgets where the car keys are!
Who is it?
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