My overwhelming Solemnity
is represented-
by brown fields
in Spring-time withering.

Nostalgia riddles me
with, and throughout,
my Life.

It is a Sweet candy;
Sour- like the taste of my gums,
as I reflect on my Experience
as a Living, Breathing,
flesh-Encumbered Soul.

"These are the pale, empty vessels of our spirit,"
says One, about our bodies.

"'Tis the final embrace from the Mother to Son,"
says One, in regards to Death.

"This is the end of a Turn,
of the Wheel just Begun,"
says one,
pondering the endless Circles
of Our existence.

But find,
in one Moment,
peace.
But see,
in one Moment,
the sun that revels on Our faces;
that dances like flames, upon Our eyes.

Don't weep because the moon crests;
because the tides rise;
because the the vivid flowers of Our mind have begun their soft decay.

Instead,
remember that Our dying bodies exist;
that peace can be found;
that the moon is merely a Shadow of the sun's brilliance;

that We,
as all Hope foretells,
as the Flowers of one age,
tread paths for the dying New;
for unborn eyes;

for the Shadows of Our acceptance.

My overwhelming solemnity;
brown fields of Spring-time withering.

Nostalgia, be riddled,
by life,
before none;
sweet candy sour,
as the taste on my gums.

Pale, empty vessels of our spirit,
said one,
A final embrace from the Mother -
to son-
the end of a turn,
of a wheel just begun.

Find - now - in a moment,
the peace,
and the sun;

- don't cry under moon crests,
don't weep for high tides -

for,

but laughter
and sorrow
and joy found in love

shall Wake us each morning,
blood found in our bodies,
our hearts and our lungs.

The present is written,
The past is still sung,
The future a distance,
a lion unroped.

My sides have been stuck,
struck with pointed thorns;
unborn tragedies seething for
release.

Each one, I picked and prodded,
and left in soiled animosity;
bitter knots wreathed in poisonous
posterity.

Each foreign touch seems to have
left my gall cascaded
but Yours, debated -

a rhythmic ring of probing
pessimisity.

I breathe.
You squeeze,
touch my outer fringe, the withering;
I freeze.
You bequeath a fresh'ing thorn.

I writhe,


Moments collide -
fourth dimensional paradigms -
commonly unseen,

birthing blooms by vestal wounds;
you cut the stem,
you redesigned the strife,
in obsequios streams.

a crest of brittle, foaming sea,
a wave that crashes over me;
divided with uncertainty,
You fight yourself so mirthlessly.

no burden to my heart, you see,
Your smile causes it to bleed
and pulse and beat, in quickening,
a rhythmic lift so heavenly.

an ocean where the neurons breathe,
and sifting me so perfectly,
like sands across the jagged reefs,
bending back, and cleansing, me.