The sea in evening
Eyes, inhabiting coastal patterns
As gannets descend,
And rise again across the ancient skyline.

A stranger in some melancholy town,
Full of brooding faces,
And cobblestone streets.

We stood at the edge,
For hours as the western winds
Traveled toward our tawny figures.

Flesh, waning. Wishing it everlasting.

What lies over the bronze horizon,
What lies beneath oceanus?

She tries not to look,
Scorched earth, and the muteness of red clay,
And dust circulated about the air.

Searching westward
For something brokenhearted,
She gave her love something to wish for.

Miles of bleached skylines
Act as an enclosure,
Caged within the rattlesnakes realm,
Waiting for plateaus to morph into an oceanic paradise.

A few more miles
And soulmates shall meet,
And half her world will blossom.

Now a man of 29, I have seen an acceleration of promotion, advertisment, and a willingness to gather and hoard materal goods. The endless yearning for things; The heart now constrained by eternal forces, and a world system  which has created a hallucinatory world full of false doctrines.

Prosperity. Perhaps that word means something different for every human being. A faded picture of a loved one, slightly ripped, covered in dust, is a possesion that can fill the eyes with water, tears of joy knowing someone loved you regardless of your rank, status, or creed. The soul and heart should be affluent or character decays by the day.

My consciousness has stubbornly resisted the glorafaction of materalism and yet i want what i want.