THE LYRICKER ( or... words and wonder)

It's only just a kind of broken illusion...
Read and memorise everything one at a time all off by heart transferring information from eyes to brain from brain to soul from soul to integrity. 
Through music find a pattern, o model, an explanation of  the path that leads my thoughts to clear reality and when daylight touches the night with the gentle shining of the first ray, words start spillig themselves away from the chest of secrets and change themselves into misterious engravings. As ink is walking allover another universe, small literal structures bring themselves to life giving meaning to the coldest fears of a decriptable personality. 
My little shire all closed and locked up inside, serenity and blue blood dropping out bit by bit without a struggle, releasing the magic of a written song, forsight's destiny (maybe) and flying high above Paradise, the Ibis bird brings a message to me, so I can feel for my inner clock is getting warm again and inspiration comes at hand when least expected. The glass that will always show me my time on Earth stares into the deep while over and over words run in and out of pages , forever thoughts and everyday's memories all in movable fragments of a touchable understanding as the nominal string of human perception slowly drifting away into confusion and hopefully chromatic questions or perhaps diametral requests and crucial wishes of reaching the 'other side' of the matter. 
Sentences and paragraphs rhymes in order and a kind of something else all mixed together in the perfect receipe of the temporarily unknown however turnable into a spontaneous revelation incorporated within and again the notion of 'inner' unharmed by any mean, rising from some dusty sleep between nightmare and redemption, power of a strong sedative thankfully taken by mistake in a slightly lesser quantity all in order to contradict the ferocious threat of an infinite deadline unrespectable by any way not even showing sympathy to time that had been given (useful for waiting) proceeding into the grandeousness of will reinventing a mindly axe a new circle and some diving classes which finally prove themselves brilliant, a startling imaginary trailer unlocking the iron door of stranger ground , the block of flats that had been built before falling away into nonsense and a melancholic smell of that past light unfolds away the origami paper and brings it all back to stillness.
Covered again in a sleepy unawareness I stroll between this side and the other one marking tracks and deleting systematic errors from wherever they might be and words and words and words once and another time once upon an endless book making and remaking and remarking and reinventing and redefining themselves and us all in a severe arrangement while we cling to life as if it were a small sample of that excelent 'everything' or even more than an earthly word losing even myself losing the grasp for yet another moment of still thoughtlessness marvelously wrapped up in a beautiful pack and said to be given as a gift to whomever would like to receive it....