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leodeopeoseo
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We live upon the margents of a great ocean of thought- none of us poach for the treasure at the seabed. We art ailing lords - hinder'd from using our greatest power, I am denied my inheritance; the strength of justice and communicating I learn do not belong to me: these powers are instrumental, pianistic - they are like an art I have learned to work, but cannot so without my craft- bag, of lores and knowledge and bark of the tongue, without which, I am unclothed. I fear that I am the Idol that knitteth his channel'd brows; a' top the "Tropic tree, itself a wood" though my Truth miscarryeth naught: tis' but her outbound self, her face that in length of time is colliquated like the frosted icicle, and drops like the tower and proud Orient, of Yesterday. Earth, mine suffering is like unto thee, I suffer your torment with you: what hadst the footpaces of Day and Night, deep like okeanobrutos, left upon your pinaxes? The lemur peaceably feeds, never minding who shaketh the mast above it, on the avocado or papaya which I hath caused to fall, from the tree; and for the eye is an index to the Soul, my Soul is wild like your deserts, for I hath seen your deserts.
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080421
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