You heralded yourself in such a way that no one could come close.
You sought your outcome in a bed of women with knives in their socks.
I see who you are.
Your eyes are empty sockets that see light in the dark,
Because your mind has imagined it all.

I lie here, thinking of you,
As I often do.
This time, however, I realized it might not be true—
The dream I have of us, where you wear red and I wear blue,
As a symbolic representation of our spiritual hues.
It can't possibly be real; that which constantly plays in my head.
The idealized form exists in the mind, but when materialized, it's just a bunch of pale roses in the garden bed.
There's not enough water to keep them red,
The sun doesn't shine brightly enough, and they fail to live up to what was said.
"They will be so beautiful, they will be so nice."
But the months go by, only for their sweet fragrance to be trapped in winter's ice,
And I think even if our love does compare to what's in my mind,
It won't last a lifetime.
Does that dissuade me from pursuing you?
Not entirely, though it leaves me confused.
Why do I follow what will be bruising, when I could sit and forever peruse,
The depths of my imagination, the stories I've told,
In an effort to construct the perfect love with my mirroring soul.

I felt a wave of love from the trees,
Green in their growth and sweet in their fruit.
I simply asked, "Would you help me wipe away this soot?
The soot that clings to my heart and darkens all that should feel lovely."

They said, "Come near and take a seat.
Can you feel our roots growing beneath?
Will you intertwine your breath with mine?
And when you weep, will you touch the soil and feel our heartbeat?"

To the giants of the land, I replied,
"I can feel your love, know your knowledge, and see your vision.
You are the serenity that bridges earth and sky,
While I am but a morsel of your magic that will surely pass before you die.

The power you possess in your filtering form
Creates life for those who here are born.
But I ask, who will you be when you return
to the sacred place we all deeply yearn?"

Pretty people I don’t really care for
Beds I don’t make
Souls that walk barefoot
Or people that are bare
I can’t hug a stranger
For someone might be led astray
A curse or a blessing
It’s not up to me to say
They always say it’s up to god
But god doesn’t make much sense
I only know myself
And even that I can’t explain