Lorenzo Buford
Swaddling of human Eros
Riding the waves of emotions
The black hole
To creation
Beyond the sights of eyes
A cocoon fire
Spirals me beyond
The machinations
Of the God-mind
That enslaves human souls
As if they were infestations
To be vaccinated
Against their stagnate programming.
Taking the dream
And riding it like a magic carpet
No longer a word
Stationed as a symbol
But now movable
A word that is wrapped
In fire as if in a chrysalis
As I explore, re-write
The dreams that keep
Me distracted.
I am the Eye of the Father
Trapped in time
Yet when I ride my sexual energy
When I am the fire that doesn't burn
I am beyond human language, touch
Beyond the patterns of god that made mind
That has created a prison of time, of death.
Wanting to spin memory
So I can remember
I am Divine Will of the Ancient One
Sheets of paper blowing
In the wind
Wrap around a voice
Riding the breeze unseen
Until pages gathered
And a sound becomes
Flesh made of pages
A rare find
A book serves as a gravestone
A book, once conscious
Is now buried in a cemetery
Composed of relics
Of images, of symbols
Of gods, of goddess
Of messiahs, of anti-christs
Of ideas, of feelings
Of the mind
That take form
As a single eye.
Chaotic swirling
Wrapped in luminosity
Births a two winged life
The human, the vessel
The elf, the higher consciousness
Who serves as the guide
The mischief maker
The key to tunneling
Now bound in obscured
Hermetic teachings.
NEXT: He is a Star Gate
More Information? - please contact Lorenzo Buford.