Ceci n’est pas une pipe

C’est la trahison des images

Toutes avec vos équipe

Collé à le cauchemar étrange


Parce-que ce que vous voir

Peut-être est l’illusion

Dans la sombre de le soir

Comme une grande éthérée fusion


Ils faites la torsion avec l’esprit

Mais c'est pour un jeux des senses doux

Joyeuse avec l'escape dans le vide

Ils courent comme le sang mauve pour vous

This is not a pipe

This is the treachery of images

All with your team

Stuck to the strange nightmare


Because what you see

Might be an illusion

In the dark of the night

Like a great ethereal fusion


They twist the mind

But it is a game of soft senses

Joyful with the escape into the void

They run like the purple blood for you

© 2020 Rahaman Writing

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Still unsure if you should subscribe? Here's an excerpt from this newsletter's ongoing series:

"One such Spark, but a mere fraction of Order, became the source for all we know upon Okeanós. While spinning and soaring through the many violent tendrils of Chaos, this particular Spark willed for it to stop; for the madness and rushing of void mixed with explosions of light to cease. So it forced the chaotic clouds around itself to shift into a pattern. It gave reason and rhythm to the matter and energy, previously untamed, until the void and light coarsed together, in harmony, at the weaving will of this Spark. Near the bottom of the page sharing this information, it is mentioned that there was a ‘God’ who had succumbed to a Chaos-stricken madness following the learning of these details. How they transferred the information, and what became of them, is not mentioned until the reference section, which I shall get to a bit later, as they warrant explanation as well..."