I grabbed a passing breeze,
Like a word,
       in a thought.

There was a weathered salt,
An old storm,
       in it's taste.

Our Souls are the finest wine,

Exquisite caliber.

The color coded gravity,
After ignition.

It is the brainwaves,
Sending us in search,
Of what we already have.

Gold to the cleanest degree,
An ancient myth,
Symbols of life,
The beginning.

Flawless musical keys merge,
The initiations,
Were only for dreamwalkers.
Eyes of Pharaohs,
Hands of Saints.

Our souls are the closest thing,
To God.

The most exquisite caliber,
Of needle & thread.