Adorned on self, it hangs like wind
on the breeze statically woven on
form. Embroider of linguistic thoughts,
all in notions that are enriched but still
never totally fallen on its emotion.

Enhancing what was just embellished
reflections, now seen in the movement
of a yearning to expel but never descended.
just  passive in  the needing of its expulsion.

Ornaments that hang on my tongue, kept
in staled rejection. I only want to garnish
your yearning with what I'm trying to
embellish with these spoken words.

There's gold dust in the palms of your life
It glitters as the winds wish it away
You cannot measure the merit of a man
In bone , blood , and flesh
But by his mark made on the stones
Through the eyes of eternity