ETERNAL MEMORIES

Elysian lesions lustrous Ephesians effacing fecundity in fluid fraternal systematic telemetries conjoining all bridges to mystery to the hiddenness of our shared brokenness,

Orwellian cosmonaut, lingering in an aspersion's apperception,

distillation's wrought in inscriptions sublimation, written in futuretime, deeptime, deep in the code of a sacred symmetry.

Ontomorphic absentia entered into the absconded instant,

happenstance driven occlusion, harvesting the concordance of inception,

a fermentation of the reflections of permissability, singled out in a cascading eternity.

Similitude of infiltrated wants, in a surveillance of fjiords, stones and sand, 

inculcating the shore, near the memory of the regolithic.

Charming insubstantiability, codifying the ameliatory, 

memory of a moment, churned in eternity, rendering the fat of a redundant tautology, 

insipid daunting wrought conscriptions, supplanting the implementary, 

absurd contingency planning eternity.

My days are numbered, in the minutia of a small eternity,

too infinitely small to count, in the grandeur of their hidden laws,

He casts the stones to find the answers, 

oracular semantics strewn across the implementation of the cloud...

within the seed a silent yearning,

undetermined by the seduction of the sun, 

how can you know the future they ask him...

because we do not know the past he says.

He looks deep into the rune's message...

and he says the ocean is bleeding,

it bleeds its dreams to those who want to listen, 

of the silent carnage,

in the memory of a sun, 

collapsing rituals into the unseen,

in the unsleep, of a still sky, 

a petulence contrasting the redolent memory,

perfumes the putrid,

all things are relative,

the sky will die,

but the people will live, he says.

The time is near,

a meandering mask,

cascading in the neon sky,

hidden deep within the impending loss,

gaining trepitude,

and the art invested in self intimated profits,

drawn in the exchange,

where a planet, free to dream,

recalls the meritography,

The golden cadence of the wind, 

sifting in pertinence and misunderstood sins,

deep within the vault,

of our eternal memories.