Stellar. I would claim that the words escape me, but that would be a lie. The truth is that I have reached for them and caught them in my hands, felt their wings beat against my palms, seeking escape. Yet when I looked on them, they seem incomplete. Or, rather, ineffectual, the wrong tools for the task I wished to set on. After all, what I intend to do is take a picture of your soul. What I intend to do is draw the outlines of your spirit. What I intend to do is make incisions in your mind, is collect the golden ichor in your veins.
But my task is far less difficult than the one you have accomplished. You who has turned your eyes inward into the world of dreams, the world navel, and has pulled from its depths a meal of symbols and signs, necessarily inscrutable, yet known to all who see with their eyes closed. You who has created an idyll of cerulean waters of the imagination. You who has forced my eyes to behold strange sights and hear even stranger melodies.
How arrogantly you spurn the world of what is real, hoisting your strange metropolis in front of our very eyes. We are transported to the dessert plains of Arraki with nothing but your fluid words to sustain us, and should we decide to engorge ourselves on Spice, we can only pray that our hallucinations are as beautiful as yours. We have eaten of the garden of your dreams, have tasted of its iridescent hues, and now we are pregnant with the knowledge of the exquisiteness and potency of your wondrous pen. We hear Juliet's voice, soft and haunting, in the hallways of our hearts, and are thus cursed with her yearning, intimately, privately familiar with the want that is hidden in your artistic soul.
Stellar. I would claim that the words escape me, but that would be a lie. The truth is that I have reached for them and caught them in my hands, felt their wings beat against my palms, seeking escape. Yet when I looked on them, they seem incomplete. Or, rather, ineffectual, the wrong tools for the task I wished to set on. After all, what I intend to do is take a picture of your soul. What I intend to do is draw the outlines of your spirit. What I intend to do is make incisions in your mind, is collect the golden ichor in your veins.
But my task is far less difficult than the one you have accomplished. You who has turned your eyes inward into the world of dreams, the world navel, and has pulled from its depths a meal of symbols and signs, necessarily inscrutable, yet known to all who see with their eyes closed. You who has created an idyll of cerulean waters of the imagination. You who has forced my eyes to behold strange sights and hear even stranger melodies.
How arrogantly you spurn the world of what is real, hoisting your strange metropolis in front of our very eyes. We are transported to the dessert plains of Arraki with nothing but your fluid words to sustain us, and should we decide to engorge ourselves on Spice, we can only pray that our hallucinations are as beautiful as yours. We have eaten of the garden of your dreams, have tasted of its iridescent hues, and now we are pregnant with the knowledge of the exquisiteness and potency of your wondrous pen. We hear Juliet's voice, soft and haunting, in the hallways of our hearts, and are thus cursed with her yearning, intimately, privately familiar with the want that is hidden in your artistic soul.
The words truly escape me this time. All I can say is Thank you King.
You have done it again. This is so beautiful and poetic.
Thank you my fellow Bard.🧎
Definitely worth the wait.
I'll take that.😂
i knew you were good, but i fear i didn’t know you were this good.
Temi😂😂😭
Thank you.❤️
The King has returned. All Hail.
Yesss Queeenn.