Cerebral Tongues

I walk with the dead,
I speak in cerebral tongues...
Our god is consciousness. 

Our flesh was made of fungus,
sipped from our mothers breasts. 
These demonic play things, we tend to manifest.
Walking dead among the living,
spirits we work with protecting our being.

Simple as it was then, 
imagination in these days so...rare.
Imitation art surrounds our nations,
governed by defects blinded by stagnation.

Once we were human. 
Man, separated by machines.
Woman, separated by screens...cursed.
Divided equally the knowledge passed on to children.

L.K. Cruz P.

Insomniax Doktrine Vol. 1

Essence of Mercy 

Taking big steps, strides turn to dust. The ashes carry the voices into the atmosphere. That woman in the white gown with star like eyes, breathless. Drowning in her sublime vision, windy dreamlike state trying to capture a breath. The godess like silouhettes gleam in the pouring rain. Her beauty fish eyed through the lens of the raindrops, caught in the moon light standing still...was about to utter a word but, was left breathless. With beauty like this, none dare approach, orthostatic off in the distance lost in awe. This awe is niether lust nor love, pure blissful, visualization admiration of another being. Like the feeling of two hearts synchronizing the magnetic field of life, suspending the mother in space. Interlaced with bio-galvanizing dimensions of grids beyond the minds eye. Light is seen, as a whole new spectrum emerges. The dawn of a new age has come, eyes closed, ashes settle. Starring at her own reflection, lost in the puddles.


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