04/04/2019
Another poem I drafted halfway today, The fog lifted itself and fell on the English mountain, Trees moved in the river of wind and the clouds rised like a gigantic wave lifting the mist and ferns swayed as it glimpsed through the Scottish valley raine. An old man with the wisdom of an earthly relations saw it, he had his eyes which looked like it was ten centuries visible, with his orchards of his mind and language flowering above his head like rainbow daisies blooming like angelic lightbulbs, he saw the lambs near the tree nooked hillside, after he heard William Blake's silence thoughts and stillness with the passing clouds of such vastness. The valley then quivered with an extended motion with the wind blowing over the mossy hills, he saw the white fog move delicately down the red runnels on the mountainside whose forest and trees started to sway, who lifted the arms of the trees, who lifted the grasses in balance, who lifted the stilled lambs, who lifted the greens of the English hill in just in one solemn wave like a solid mass from heaven mist infused through the vale with a wave of great immensity through the valley within the length of all England under the heaven's ocean. Heaven balances herself on a grass blade, the mountain wind roars, Just one formless being, Blake on the mountainside stirred gently and the lakes tremble and reflects the blue sky with millions of majestic daisies and wet grass quivering and the fog pours down through the shivering flowers on the mountain lake. Valleys breath again, heaven and earth become one, pink daisies blossomed, vegetables trembled, green grass shimmers, horses and sheeps dances in the warm rain, pheasants croak in the meadows, blueberries fringe stone walls on the hills, strawberry cottages sprinkled around the lake. The old man hears the ocean sound by the hillside which changes itself into a delicate gust of wet air, falls on the ground, he stares close, still no imperfection on the grass, each flower with Krishna's eyes repeats the same story, green buds rises, blue bell flowers tremble and stares into the eyes of the lambs, the old man lays himself on the ground with wet hair on the mountainside smelling the brown moist ground, tasting the thistle meadow flowers with sweetness. With Blake's enlightenment, he becomes so balance, so vast and that his softest breath moves every flower in the stillness of the valley floor and trembles the rain drop beaded on the grass and lifts all birds who are hiding their strength in the rain. The great secret of the winds above the old man's head becomes visible, the rain mist curtains waves through the soft grass vale. Blake's heavenly breath trembles the white daisies by the river and heaven breaths finally.
