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nunia
1/21/2006 1:57:57 PM
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Writing Verse in Classic Chinese I was smashed by a pale spirit out of Bath a misty winter morn it haunts hours away from my X-Window frames. Alas by this end of hours and by this end of day Oh how i cut and paste in every way to restore a dream I've dreamt yet lost ever since I left. O blessed is the hours so ardently spent waiting by wings of angelic forms whereby beauty and grace behold a forgotten tongue a rusty art of making ancient music with silent sound echoing between thousands of years and thousands of miles around. [fiveshinylights: comrade, dost you speaketh the china man's tongue?] Brother 'cool hand luke', yes i do. now as i remember my mother tongue endured warring kingdoms hundreds of centuries strong it is not to speak but to paint, silently out of gentle brushes rainfalls of firm strokes thy worst enemy and thyself's speck of mind for words uttered always turning into querrels by hauling wind and words carved into oracles smoked by time and shifted by sand can mean many things to one eye kings thus bind thy people with one faith no words no names but mixing bloody drops from inquenchable dreams * first written in March 2005 and presented unto http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/18875206/
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