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Thursday, June 21, 2018

Epiphany Of The Pale Grey...


The crow has struck the night between the billowed clouds that separate the light shining from the fullest moon.  Entreating the king with every manner of vessel adorned of beauty, silk and shine. From old to new they "coo" at his status, taunting him at every plane.  Light eyes and smooth thighs whisper death in the shadows disguised as life and living.  Knowing the measure of all giftings gifted and all shiftings shifted groaned empty in his soul for epiphanies reason to purpose in him what is now deemed "more"...

For beautiful is the truest moon that all the world does admire.  That all should marvel at it's acumen for love and lust in the simplest of terms yet it does not boast in such a thing.  It does not relish in the accolades given nor does it rest it's purpose or identity in the power it has over countless hearts that beat in the night.  Instead, it relishes in it's purpose.  That it should be a light in the dark as all other effects are not in it's power but instead rest in the hearts of those it inadvertently entreats.  If it's glory does not boast or find it's pride in such things then why should the king or any other do any less?

And so it went that the crow has struck the night between the billowed clouds that separate the light shining from the fullest moon.  The king has ordered death to the crow.  Many came...few remain. For they came bearing gifts of light eyes, smooth thighs and subtle lies.  Vanity is to receive them all as if it was his power to abuse but as it is so of the beauty of purposed creation so it shall be with him. Entreat him with honor, grace and words that lace around his heart.  For to noose either neck for the sake of control is akin to using bit and bridle used on animals needing taming and not for kings that rest in such awareness.  Entreat him with beauty's hold adorned by the unseen face that shines beneath the bone and the heart that bleeds for moments of purity that seek the eternal experience deemed a fool's love aimed at reckless abandon.  The king and the fool speak tonight.  Watching and waiting...for more...

The king looks out over his balcony into the clear night sky as Clair De Lune plays ever so softly in the backdrop of his room.  Gazing into the glory of the fullest moon he sighs as he can still find the silhouette of her pretty face.  He finds comfort in this...

~Moses Apollo

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