Burning Wixs
Two ends, begin one
If you desire me to go deeper, I assure you I am well equipped to do so, though there may be a slight sting of injecting what I bring.
Indifference between suns spinning to wed, a person lead to bed with a tired body, exhausted head, and things left unsaid due to a shotguns firing for amorè and most certain bedding.
Songs will be sung of which you personally sing, rage frost fist spasm and twist to stars stage..
Soon to be filled with the mentality of hope to rest while eyes still wandering marvelously hungry for more, soldiering to the cruel beat of harsh reality. Reminders to the finders of something deeper.
Time is a creaper..
Not by definition, but a simple stalking without talking. Subtractions of actions to additions..A constance, roaring silent mission, which the byproduct of multiply division.
Within the confines of time, I rhyme.. rhythm for each, all must find.
How sorrowful and maddening it can be, desiring more.
Held back to sate an undefeated permanent mate to each and every life to date.
Such voracious needs of a seemly greedy masters hunger, to bleed all color pastel, waterwell, ink or oil.
Its infinite toil labors all universally, like a saber through all things fake, real, or true.
With needlelike precision incisions, stinging old and new. Whether it's on paper, foil, or skin or a drawing that changes as you flip the pages. Living or dead and those of many ages..
It has no decision but, its been decided long, long ago, on a continuous flow, all must succumb to. Even if one doesn't know with precise clarity.
Whether you braille or see..different or similar to me. All color, all life, all rock and spec, from every aspect its forever vision will, detect.
It conspicuously inspects even the life of an insect. As the summers fall, to winter springs flow, a erected multiverse diverse in color like no other, Reveals its self, only to fade away due to a colorful spray, of not unique to your own minds way.
Smear the moonlit or sun kissed day with your Paint, Dwell dead to life, or ignore what the knife edge brings. Sing! Lack worry, create your story. Though you will give in, no matter how hard-headed you've been.
Soon after, your doors will close and open.. Fell of bed or floor, awaken once more.
Add traces of smiles to your mental space. Add to your digit,
Whichever is it...
Be your style but, remember grace. Spin! dance! Write! Laugh! Speak! Strip down beyond the sound and clothing you found. Be yours, for it is unique.
Seek... What how, what now? So you hear the spit of cricket..its rub of feet, as you sit in seat? Do.. Move your mind and body in any direction until perfection is made of ideas laid.
Fore yesterdays today, is amidst dust. Tomorrow isn't one to trust..fill it in. What, how, whichever.
I know your Clever. Spin the lever. Twist your mind, grind to frow, grow to Remember tomorrow, just may be never. Whenever you feel it or even if you don't.
Today won't, out last the ticking clock, toc, tic click, click, click, tic toc, tic, toc.
Do it this very day or night, take flight! Release your hidden wings, open your mouth, and sing.. do it now, not then or maybe when, and by the way, if you should stop in to relay, some sort of mental or physical imagery...
I would prefer you to greet this Mad Hatter of a man, that is me, with thoughtful grace and smile. Sit down, maybe even dine awhile.
Coffee, tea, or even sand..
I may have judgment but not a judgemental man. Whatever your thirst may demand. A warm welcoming hand to my land..
With this, I bid you adieu, at least for a moment or two.
