Inverted Prism of Consciousness

Fiction & Literature, Poetry
Cover of the book Inverted Prism of Consciousness by Irtimd Kuoilel, Xlibris US
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Author: Irtimd Kuoilel ISBN: 9781503566927
Publisher: Xlibris US Publication: May 6, 2015
Imprint: Xlibris US Language: English
Author: Irtimd Kuoilel
ISBN: 9781503566927
Publisher: Xlibris US
Publication: May 6, 2015
Imprint: Xlibris US
Language: English

Brush with Horizons

Scientists daydream of higher dimensions
Some find these visions exceedingly bright
I fall for something not half as pretentious
Thrill of untethered, free, blind flight

I crave not snowstorm bursting from cloud
Nor dread thick fog that sneaks up on the sly
But flight over water where stars on the ground
Brightly reflect limpid stars of the sky

Thin razor blade of far, murky horizon
Lost in profusion of stalled fireflies
May be diagonal, may be up-rising
May be redundant, for all that implies

Stars, whirling round in dark midnight's embraces
Am, starkly airborne, swept with delight
What end awaits mebreaking the surface
Grasping the void or awaking in fright?

All these don't matter in moment's delusion
But for a feelinglike faint, distant scream
That, when they find me, my wrists will be oozing
Torn on sharp edges of prodigal dream

View on Amazon View on AbeBooks View on Kobo View on B.Depository View on eBay View on Walmart

Brush with Horizons

Scientists daydream of higher dimensions
Some find these visions exceedingly bright
I fall for something not half as pretentious
Thrill of untethered, free, blind flight

I crave not snowstorm bursting from cloud
Nor dread thick fog that sneaks up on the sly
But flight over water where stars on the ground
Brightly reflect limpid stars of the sky

Thin razor blade of far, murky horizon
Lost in profusion of stalled fireflies
May be diagonal, may be up-rising
May be redundant, for all that implies

Stars, whirling round in dark midnight's embraces
Am, starkly airborne, swept with delight
What end awaits mebreaking the surface
Grasping the void or awaking in fright?

All these don't matter in moment's delusion
But for a feelinglike faint, distant scream
That, when they find me, my wrists will be oozing
Torn on sharp edges of prodigal dream

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