Am the sun You are the moon When you are I am not In your eyes I always drift I have a yearning just to say a word Chronos is really cruel

There’s a rope wrapped and tied tight, right around my heart, holding me back It is tethered to a rock buried deep in the ground, unable to move I fight against it because all the things I want are outside of its reach But deep down, I know that the rope will win and that the struggle is no use So I stay where I am so that it doesn't hurt, but it's slowly tugging back. Pulling me further away from you and everyone that could have ever been someone.

cosy comfort of unreason an emotional tug on the ankles towards a new golden age a fall to grace roll the teeth and bones barbarian sages disentangle made up mysteries to solve the problems they know well as they created them an appearance of wisdom a receipt of decay the divination of leadership scholars of deception in their hands twisted strands of a skein tying mistletoe having never climbed the tree

It all suddenly hit me one day How you had never said I love you back How you never looked me in the eyes When we spoke How you played the role of my lover So well,tht I didn't notice ur true feelings I'd always go to bed with a liked dm Or a txt left on seen I always thought you were tired or perhaps fell asleep What I didn't know was what was in your heart I had always wished you'd love me back Or atleast I thought you did My love was real Every word I said I meant it wholeheartedly All my emotions, expressions and Confessions were all genuine And you know the late night texts meant alot because we bonded quite magically But it was just a fantasy tht turned into my biggest regret and it hurt alot ..

the light from her eyes was an aria descending the mountain a lyrical quaking hum lifting the heavy dust from me unbinding the earth from my feet Lazarus leaving Plato’s cave a snake shedding its skin a Celtic moon mystery delights with a soft gaze from the Gentle Queen whose fire reignites my soul’s imramma riding high on Manannán mac Lir’s watery steed towards that island of Tír na nÓg just beyond the line of sky and sea; Oisín and Niamh

the constant beneath the chaos pathocracy lives in the noise ideological adherence the highest morality ideas of integrity as social constructs resting at the bottom of labour pools where the few are more equal than most obedience is the golden rule whereby those with the gold make the rules equality in the waiting line hierarchy in the boardroom where anyone can be equally stupid equally manipulated equally hungry equally afraid in a word controlled

the fault-line of our society is the dehumanization by power that we are statistics described by the inheritance of our appearances not the generosity of our spirit, empathy intelligence uninfected by the arrogance of the search for immortality nor the delusions and cruelty of a god made in our image we rise above the false virtues of willful ignorance distilled deference to our insecurities arrogant pride to stand in front of our mirror and know a deep truth that we are so much more than a surface reflection made by a narrow frequency of artificial light we are the faces of each other in a fractal shell arisen from an unimaginably old deep well

democratization of information cuts more facets on the diamond of my interpretation avoiding social consensus condensing the rainbow light to a single beam of white chaos theory shaping my erratic patterns in the stream of life waiting for the waxing shadow of an eclipse to catch up to my own shadowiness where a peaceful dissolution of solemnity meets a truthful abyss for a mystic’s Seer mind follows the fractals of an illogical vine preferring circles and spirals instead of straight lines

thought and memory the whole entangled within the parts holographic memories persist across entropic remnants captured within the matrices that is me i think i’ll take random walk along a Fibonacci spiral descend the fractal stairways of emergence stand at the gates of mandalas labyrinth parallel paths both walked and not to realize the essence of who we are some glimpse of the great mystery that we are a drop of water in a vast sea that those who have passed remain as currents in the waves

the Red Mare rose from her bed starry flowers about her head through my mother’s hands awoke the Tula nan Trì into this house into this hearth our souls we keep a poet’s dream Summer winds fields of wheat pasture for sheep until she bids Gráinne to her side when Bran’s wing covers my eyes and the Darkness looks at me