Ashes of Soul

Mortal catalogs of art 

light up cities, 

upon mysteries of curiosities; 

Till Coordinates of these drapes, 

become an embolism,

Switching swirl of soft scenes; 

Till Smokes’ offspring are born, 

In and out of season,

Seasoning beyond reason and wonder,

boiling stones in luxurious calabashes,

Till Ashes of each soul are left to wander. 

Time wings, high up and miles ahead,

In the mystery of Lenses’ wealth 

and radius of realities curvature; 

Grouping dreams in every direction, 

Everywhere Mission and Vision 

have sailed and ridden, 

Racing the radix radon realities of life, 

like the royalty of the Tiger. 

Take me back, not too far, 

Where the day is set to see, 

And time in a little while 

thinks of its ashes and assets 

Acquired or abandoned. 

Take me back, not too far, 

These themes of hallucinations, 

Coursing through Optics and dark matter;

Making me run wet through the essence of space.