Requisite Poem by Leon Moon

In seeking words, I founded mysticism.
Secluding the appearances of thought
Left alone, marinating adrenaline,
Revitalised intent equalised,
Encroaching encapsulations of webs,
I evolved the vain master of disguise;

He was my intent parallelised,
His spirit was emphasis, the focus
Of the connections creating solitude,
The only chamber we keep to establish comparison,
A preservation of the memory of a conquest
Long since forgotten, since you've awoken, from the rest;

Our energy is the measurement of here, where
It is the replay of uncontemplated ruin, within
The last aspect of consciousness recognising a there,
Where it is found streamlined by innocences lasting forever,
The abode of bliss found again either through empathy or sin,
The walking drudgery of after birth we mock less we transpire to ether;

The pendulum spawns elements, advancing my expense,
Scrapped up and temporarily refused, trickling heats of sunlight
Wax my face in despite of frosted specs blessing prematurity
Hung over another portrait of the heart, tainted by shadows
Which we can't help but praise as mummifications of ideals,
In the infinity of an hour, phoenix eternity's begin binding reflections;

Adoring sorrow, a plateau for the saviour, surprise.
Every aspect of femininity reveals to me
The long-lost compromise, an agreed-to trick,
Stuck, moulded to the tack of my boot,
Our ever-imprinted disgrace, reminding gambled grace
Of a time we use to define, without telling ourselves we need to hide;

Never needing to blindfold directors
Else tell myself I know I actually knew,
I am the oblivious rectitude of a replay-able Sun,
Impoverishing only isolation,
The new-found monsoon of depletion
Slept to the contriver of speech, our cocoon of singularity;

Simplified to a flood of self-conceit
Flesh connives, the soul to the sole will to create,
Sticking us in the revolver always re-decentralising
To find the perfect centre, dawn is the fact a glance is a sever,
No more than a patch of film used to resuscitate identity
Stretching oblivion to a miniature figurine, displacing myth;

These systems, bases of realities paradigms
Are the basis for the influxes of thoughts and experiences,
Endless forces, endless because they're just a face
Taking on the attitude of mirrors, entirely composed of reaction
It is bodies, vessels and pulping mountains, irreducible stems of silence
Repealing the scene convincing you there are no victims in ecstasy.