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Archaeus Six Poems
Quickened by wonder, my mind asunder, The empyrean speaks to me. Alas the frightful, yet, calming insightful, A disposition, free from apathy.
Although I cannot see your face, Or speak the name to calm this storm, By this desolate reflection, now, You exist,
Laying in the sands of such salient need, We let slip the oceanic, A want to fortune, So we bleed.
Lead us away from the centrifuge of soul, Allow us to drift, Through the tomb of decision, In acceptance of the unachievable goal.
Have you ever been surrounded, by the sweetest of lights? Not of the visible, and magnificent splendor, Rather a touch of grace, while blind, to the most beatific of sights, Oh how it vivifies the hopeful, I wish to engender.
I am still, now, Admits my endless turning. There is no fear. There is no end.
Copper Voice, Golden Heart
Bliss we are in your arrival, Rivers of Venus; ensure our survival. Parched shores of this destitute land,
So this, is the elusive. The cause, the goal. It always is, Drawing all, to itself.
Take my hand, You beautiful and crippled one. Caught within this emotional starlight, Betwixt the peaceful heavens above,
Why, in our weakest and loneliest hour, With the hands of the clock; No audience, Does the path seem so clear through a blur of tears?
This wistful is cold within the sunless rain, Unlike you dear Phoenix, who arose from pain. Warm from the ashes, now sovereign with desire,
Comments about Archaeus Six
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Quickened by wonder, my mind asunder,
The empyrean speaks to me.
Alas the frightful, yet, calming insightful,
A disposition, free from apathy.
Why always in twilight, the gentle encroaching night,
Do blights of torment, find sympathy.
To emancipation, by an act of aberration,
For a moment, my sins are free.
Perhaps Selene, in her smile so serene,
Pardons the fool, with amnesty.
To be silent and embrace, what leaves no trace,
Disturbs not, this rapture in me.
In the midst of alone, forthcoming I condone,
What the day would not let me ...