Raw burnt fingertips hell bound blown overexposed scull thought to the bone in the overtone of death's ever risising crimson tides still your love for humanity must never die I heard it in the rain falling from so many eyes you are free from it all for the meek and mild were also the bold blood became water, streaming from a fearlfull heart of stories never been told.
It is not the wind, my favorite thing, or a dreamcatchers feather on a shamans ring, those are spellbound in the mystic of this sound from midnight to sunrise, it is the whisper of your breath, that opens my eyes.
From libido form through the eye of the needle the climactic storm. Love rules with a view not just a stickler for vroom a home for life not just a closet for brooms.
Beyond our burdens and the weight of our tears beyond the storms in our African years there's a place whom God knows, bares all the colour's of the rainbow.
My soul feeds off my heart and my heart needs people to love only heaven knows "Doves from Crows" so even if you hate me forgive me knowing I already forgave you.
I redrafted myself many times searching for the elusive post.
When I write I don't know why I keep challenging myself I guess writing must consider feelings not only ones own also the readers, poetry can hurt as well as it heals.
There are feeling's in the offing of a rose . By soil and sand often overexposed broken stems from the sting of thorns love and love me knot's petals apart ripped broken torn.
I see birds fly from this concrete predicament faces in ****** hands I hurt and I cry my hands are wet trapped on Pilates plateau a place where bugs die.
Burnt out matchsticks from the dark hours wind theirs were a bunker that bare no malice nor loss only a blotched memory light-years apart these days that day and those days.
So deep Your luminescents rips through the darkness of the deep your tentacles are a toxic slaughter don't stop drown me in your jellylegs baby please **** me before you save me