Prophecy
By Peter Scott
The breeze sifts through my hands
Alas, I am indoors
Everything looks different
Bizarre, strange, odd
A tingling hits my senses
I must write
Quickly, plainly
Words must flow from my
External visage
I know not what it may be
Simple flowing
Nervousness courses through my chest
Encompasses all of my being
Here but not am I
Spiritual? Could I,
Logic Dictative siphon an essence
Live by the spirit?
Confusion, awakening
Logistics of the gut
Contemplative
Run with the fire and live
With the pad
Delirium an option to
Deny with passion
The feeling takes its course
Writing with fervor
Sphere of revolvement
Was not I watching?
Solemn in the sky
Text with a spirit
Simplicity waning
Decisions of the heart
Am I not God
Cut me down
Good prevails over most
God prevails over few
Violent separation at the root
I see to the heavens
Tear life down at my feet
Internal rule of
A biological delirium?
Imagination strikes the king
We all rule the land
It is in our midst
Walk to it
He or she not
ģITē
Give your heart way
But control with the hand
You are IT
See it but internal
Pray to thyself
God internal
Creation come mist
I have seen little of the land
But know it by heart
Crazy...
Slow in moving...
King.
