It is here,
Between an infinity
And a forever,
Where Time esoteric
Proves an abstract maze—
Occulted space,
Clandestine frame.

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When space becomes another frame in the recollection of memories that make up this present tense, don’t neglect the unspoken, invisible energies from another sense, foreign conjugate whereof we emerge.

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Occult susurrations call,
Beckoning holy fingers
Amid the noise.
You’ll hear the voice
Of some silence,
Vespers whispered
Along this faithful madness.

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It is in those oppressive silences
That space torments,
Haunting the self
With the weight of an eternity—
It is there that a question asked
Proves no pain worthy
For answers without logic.

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If language allows,
Let these words
Be enough to manifest
What magick we owe,
To a world yet to know,
What miracle we’ve become.

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Framed stories we were--
Unscripted characters
Of Love without Sense;
No conjugation proved safe tomorrows;
No futures, hope for presents
Better than yesterday's sorrows.

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It's as if in silence
I were to hear
Voices from other beings...
Language whose meaning
Conjugates without theory.

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Let the stars up above,
Whose sacred wisdom I,
With darkest knowledge love,
Whisper my pen and
Guide my thought--
Into yet discovered seas,
Lands yet trodden
By those who fear.

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