beckybeckybeck

Essence, Why do I Love the idea Of indigo? Why cant it be Violet, Maple, Crimson? If the Earth keeps spinning Why am I alone In pursuit Of you?

Let us plant seeds within others gardens so that we may see the growth of our own souls. Let us uncover the veils sleeping upon aching hearts so that we might not bleed to deeply upon tattered sleeves. Does it frighten you when I say, life is a mere plaything? Counting blocks Connecting dots Lines arranged; a portrait of breathing landscapes— soft, frozen breath floating up towards the sky. I am planting seeds within a verdant garden knowing fully, that each virgin bud is promised nothing. Tick-tock says the clock: are you afraid to die? Drop, drop, falls the seed: shall you experience life? For now, I shall continue gardening.

What is beheld within human expression? Are we ignorant of death within our lack of discretion? & who are we to say that moonlights beams aren't all seeing? Drips of vanity fall like tears; lament crushed upon sin drenched feet & the enterprise of wealth rots within tombs of immortal lime while our sisters decay upon cobblestone streets. Is it absurd to look at the glory, the impediment of death as Moses laments: Virgin grass by morning withering to straw husks ablaze under new sun If but the days pass into morrow Do we posses the wisdom to precede? Perhaps; within our hearts after all

Where do we go when our eyes are closed? Do we wake in forests, black dirt cracked between our toes Do we find ourselves alone dark roads Take the highway home. In between the whispers slipping from cracked asphalt I'm counting seconds on twisted fingers, imperfect teeth, calloused feet. How many steps come between the expectations of wanting of being seeing in soft silence. When the lights go out are we finally home?

Soft sun shines meadows only in brightest yellows. Wheaten warmth waning only for the prettiest petals. Do not speak up the cardinal is silent in singular flight. Autumn brings oranges suspended soft cream Cracked shutters, one broken screen. The peeling paint, only lead if you taste. Wind blows children leaving the mighty Oak. Is she sad spending winter alone? "If you need a break someone will take your place" The mountains hold the city along their hips Spruce, Fir, clover Will-o-the-wisps. Can they hear our thoughts? Do they know what we do in the dark? While the willow sways I find the want to live in her place. I find the want I find the want Stuck in multi-frame time A dimensional oneness. This is all               an illusion                   (allusion)