Song of Ourself - Revision history

imported>Isaac: =>our

2011-01-11T23:05:26Z

=>our

← Older revision		Revision as of 23:05, 11 January 2011
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	<br>		<br>
	Do you feel the pulse of this consciousness,<br>		Do you feel the pulse of this consciousness,<br>
	what wakes behind my eyes before they have blinked?<br>		what wakes behind our eyes before they have blinked?<br>
	<br>		<br>
	Do you embrace the pulse of the-that-without-end,<br>		Do you embrace the pulse of the-that-without-end,<br>
	as the genesis of ~~your~~ own pulse?<br>		as the genesis of our own pulse?<br>
	<br>		<br>
	Even here, with this impulsive erection,<br>		Even here, with this impulsive erection,<br>

imported>Isaac:
tags

2011-01-11T23:01:36Z

<br> tags

← Older revision		Revision as of 23:01, 11 January 2011
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	by Isaac Wilder		by Isaac Wilder

	~~<nowiki>~~
	~~Have I felt so proud, to get at the meaning of freedom?~~

	Have I stopped and tarried in the rhythm of our new awakening?		Have I felt so proud, to get at the meaning of freedom?<br>
			Have I stopped and tarried in the rhythm of our new awakening?<br>
	We are a creating thing, creating things,		<br>
			We are a creating thing, creating things,<br>
	we are a burning thing, burning things,		we are a burning thing, burning things,<br>
			we are a liberator, come not to claim.<br>
	we are a liberator, come not to claim.		<br>
			We wake to the sound of our own breath,<br>
			drawing slowly near from the dawn that surrounds us.<br>
	We wake to the sound of our own breath,		We wake to the sound of our own hearts,<br>
			echoing the ancient rhythm of slave-beaten drums.<br>
	drawing slowly near from the dawn that surrounds us.		We wake to the sound of the city beneath us,<br>
			which ebbs easily, and lazily, and in syncopation.<br>
	We wake to the sound of our own hearts,		<br>
			Do you feel the pulse of this consciousness,<br>
	echoing the ancient rhythm of slave-beaten drums.		what wakes behind my eyes before they have blinked?<br>
			<br>
	We wake to the sound of the city beneath us,		Do you embrace the pulse of the-that-without-end,<br>
			as the genesis of your own pulse?<br>
	which ebbs easily, and lazily, and in syncopation.		<br>
			Even here, with this impulsive erection,<br>
			of city walls, and city halls:<br>
	Do you feel the pulse of this consciousness,		I have never been so proud, to get at the meaning of freedom.<br>
			No. Never.<br>
	what wakes behind my eyes before they have blinked?		<br>
			I will stop a while, and let the slithering riptides subsume me-<br>
			subsume me. <br>
	Do you embrace the pulse of the-that-without-end,

	as the genesis of your own pulse?



	Even here, with this impulsive erection,

	of city walls, and city halls:

	I have never been so proud, to get at the meaning of freedom.

	No. Never.


	I will stop a while, and let the slithering riptides subsume me-

	subsume me.
	<~~/nowiki~~>

imported>Isaac: format

2011-01-11T23:00:03Z

format

imported>Isaac: changed verbatim to nowiki

2011-01-11T22:59:07Z

changed verbatim to nowiki

← Older revision		Revision as of 22:59, 11 January 2011
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	by Isaac Wilder		by Isaac Wilder

	<~~verbatim~~>		<nowiki>
	Have I felt so proud, to get at the meaning of freedom?		Have I felt so proud, to get at the meaning of freedom?
	Have I stopped and tarried in the rhythm of our new awakening?		Have I stopped and tarried in the rhythm of our new awakening?
Line 30:		Line 30:
	I will stop a while, and let the slithering riptides subsume me-		I will stop a while, and let the slithering riptides subsume me-
	subsume me.		subsume me.
	</~~verbatim~~>		</nowiki>

imported>Isaac: added poem

2011-01-11T22:58:27Z

added poem

New page

Song of Ourself
by Isaac Wilder

<verbatim>
Have I felt so proud, to get at the meaning of freedom?
Have I stopped and tarried in the rhythm of our new awakening?

We are a creating thing, creating things,
we are a burning thing, burning things,
we are a liberator, come not to claim.

We wake to the sound of our own breath,
drawing slowly near from the dawn that surrounds us.
We wake to the sound of our own hearts,
echoing the ancient rhythm of slave-beaten drums.
We wake to the sound of the city beneath us,
which ebbs easily, and lazily, and in syncopation.

Do you feel the pulse of this consciousness,
what wakes behind my eyes before they have blinked?

Do you embrace the pulse of the-that-without-end,
as the genesis of your own pulse?

Even here, with this impulsive erection,
of city walls, and city halls:
I have never been so proud, to get at the meaning of freedom.
No. Never.

I will stop a while, and let the slithering riptides subsume me-
subsume me.
</verbatim>