When saying goodnight
is hardly your final thought,
pray she's creative.

White Mustang dream
sipping on life through a straw
until red light turned green.

I notice,
while sitting with a pen,
harvesting words
for the task I was given,
fantastic dreams
of ****** exploration,
unobtainable and maybe unrequited,
cloud my mind
with a most fatal attraction.

Dormant eyes slept open'd,
sought but hardly for naught,
lasting evermore.

The artist dragged
a hand across
a city skyline
in the sky
while the paint
was still wet.

What if our thoughts were controlled
and original thought was all but done
if it were illegal to ask questions
for example this one

what if there was no future or past
and only the simultaneous
time was only another tool
like a meter stick or others, miscellaneous

or what if those with life
instead of just being
break away from the grid
giving their own life meaning

without fear of their ideas being chased
hunted down, gathered up and erased
built up in great heaping pyres
and ceremoniously fed to the fires
  
people could extend their ideas
through-out the ages
merely by putting their words
on a few blank pages

influencing people
generations apart
simply by creating
a little bit of art

Eat your brains for kings pleasure,
While snacking your soul on ancient lore,
find the meanings twice and you die,
running on borrowed time,
to weave the web of lies
hidden plainly on layer of skin,
I slowly peel off and savor,
as you deconstruct my walls,
building a home out of the rubble,
to hid away from glances,
lancing through tired eyes,
perpetually trapped in the hills,
which never see beyond,
the painted black highways,
our galaxies ellipses through,
and occasionally super colliding

Thunderstorms twirl across my skin,
hurricanes dancing up my spine,
lightning erupts from her skies,
and I find myself enraptured inside.

I see galaxies form beneath her skin,
Supernovas waging war within,
fighting to escape her prisons,
and I'm praying she'll let them win.

If her melody is the universe,
I want to wake up beside the stars.
Let me sing in meteor-showers,
dance with Venus in the acid rain,
I'll skip in the asteroid fields,
jumping nebula fences,
because there's no limits;
the places she takes me are endless.


*~Matthew Walker~