The experience settled deep below where now one can extend their reach far enough.
It tried so hard to hide from the cape of sight and all things real.
For it was a delusion. One made up of the highest order.
It split and revealed again, nothing.
A fragile movement works the space.
It seems to have no end of force that keeps the innocent surrounded.
It dances with movement of such grace.
Sight stares as they feel astounded.
Again, such things begin to rotate and hover to different locations as it spins uncontrollably into the distance.
The feeling gets ever so deeper as one tries to reach yet again.
Failures it may become.
Success is something hard to win.
A flickering change looms in the area of solitude.
It screams for the thing it cannot have.
It may never have.
The art stays amuck as it roams the dark looking for something to be.
Fire it may never feel.
Sight laughs at the pitiful shape.
Justice is held captive through the chains aggravation.
It moans a sound that can never be heard.
The fire dies out.
Sight smiles as it wins the fight.
The arms of the cage stretch ever so wider as the teetering crack of reality loses everything they hold to be true.
The black loneliness enclosed in the prison that holds it so, becomes fueled with the thoughts of the lost and thoughts of the dead.
There is no way out for me as I do my dance.
There is now way for me to show.
There is now way for me to loan freedom.
Let them see me.
Let them dislike me.
I will prance alone if I must, I will do it alone if I must and I will escape alone if I must.
Sight, feeling and touch become so intrigued of the lost.
The dance has not changed.
Regret seems to seep in as the flashes of what could have been fill the air.
The dance has not changed.
Faces appear that one cannot be and strides of success lurk no where near.
The dance has not changed.
The inner fire that can push one has not changed.
The disconnected reality pushes toward the side of unknown.
The art has not changed.
The sanity bounds and leaps to new heights never seen before.
The art has not changed.
Strides to shatter all that is real pounds against the barrier.
The art has not changed.
The inner fire starts to blaze.
Strength the almighty needs as it gives itself to a new light.
The justice doesn't change.
Confidence is given as it runs for its goal.
The justice doesn't change.
With one strike of the riddled mind something cracks and shatters to the power given.
The justice doesn't change.
The fire burns free.
The phoenix rises to a new reality.
The cape begins to fly again as the breeze gets encouraged by the brewing storm.
Bright. New. Life.
The black darkness fades as the fire begins to get fueled again.
As passion seems into ones pores and makes one feel again.
Feel yellow, black and orange.
Orange fills the air with the subtle warmth of memories of the forgotten past.
Yellow oozes to the mind to release a trap for the abandoned there.
Black travels into the soul to set upon a leash of ideas that can never be.
They will release a new born of infinity as the cycle creates more of the things to be.
Sight can now clearly see the things muddled and hidden from the one who tried so hard to look at all.
The fire is burning brighter than infinities hold as the phoenix lights the way for something no one can see.
The dance moves with new strides of bravery.
The art moves with new flicks of wonder.
The justice races for it's new hold on tyranny.
The sight is clear.
The priorities of the confused are now aligned.
The experience slowly rises from its defeated position.
It can now be in a state where the dreamers can hold and never forget it.
The glee of the past will now light the way.
It will show those the light of the burning fire within oneself.
YOU ARE READING
Wishing for the Unforeseen
شِعرNo matter what's thought, poetry makes people think and thinking does something. It creates new horizons for anybody who just listens to the fluttering wings of thoughts. The thumping, and the feeling of the amazing. The wondrous flight of the new w...
