David Johnson

David Johnson Nov 2013

Curving down a winding road.
I finally soaked into a door.

My emotions were statues,
Like concrete thread pouring the sky, a new blueish green.

Fear was it's own culture.
Demanding belief & hovering over those who could break, in seconds.

I could smell the rain.
My lessons, showed me how.
Taking me through night & pointing at the smallest pieces of of we are.

Causal days of ache.
I tarnished the old wool, parchment paper.
Everything I thought was real,
Became fragments & out of the pile, I found some of my reflection.

The scarred kindness of generality.
A life led from simple roses,
And yet the most deadly, tangible thorns & scarcely beat dirt.

Times become all too familiar.
Launching coins, off a thumbnail,
Into the only well within miles.

My feelings were frozen.
Trapped in lights in this darkened room.

Arching up a windy *****.
I finally became the door.

David Johnson Nov 2013

"The Oceans Were A Country"

Patience,
Is the only necessary condition,
When dealing with emotional ice.

In a way,
That hours clip those moments of sadness,
& help us realize,
That what happened,
Really did happen.

Common sense,
Is the cliff, when seeing things,
You couldn't see before.

Like those old stories,
Which unravels showing evidence of morals.
A portrait painted with our fingertips,
& rain water.

The oceans were a country.
A developer of nature's union.
Like a mundane plea,
Becoming a bargin for soul transportation.

Tranquility,
Is the only effect,
To the cause of pain.

David Johnson Nov 2013

Cold Fire

Down a spiraling, dark hallway.
Riddling became an entrepreneurship.
A business for those who simply,
Exchange what they came,
And nothing changes.

Epiphanies of cushioning vibes & cold drinks,
To remedy forgiveness,
Life was seen a different way,
And constantly revisited under cleaner light,
& reflectively needled into natures weathered materials.

There was a blitz of fire in the incoming storm.
A candle, without a plate, or a plan.

A transition of emphasis,
To unifying actions.
Like being tossed a faith,
from the origins of man.
And being told, who not to be.

David Johnson Nov 2013

"Engraved"

Our skin reflects what we've been through.
Not what was written.
Rivers are propelled by the way the wind feels.
Not the variety of fish.
Everything that's happened,
Becomes shrunken to a snip of air.
And the wanderers,
Find a way, to surface.
Our race, reflects from our final "selves"
Initiating transparent routes,
Of evil deeds & searched blessings.
The oceans are propelled by the rain,
And it's predictive nature.
wrapped around the fiery pits of molten energy.
What we do,
Give's & Take's
From this core.
Its engraved.

David Johnson Nov 2013

"Brilliance"

Brilliance is an achievable recognition.
Quad cores, of the brain processing,
Relevant understandings,

Breathing with good intentions,
And at the same time,
Being the person, of who you are.

Sometimes we find ourselves,
Down a road, with additional baggage,
And hours of not wanting to feel hurt again.

We realize why we fell.
And how to avoid that type of fall again.
That is, until all falls are counted for.

Greatness,
Is when,
In a given moment,
Your crafts alter time & destiny.

Leaving some type of brilliance,
In it's, clearing, edgy smoke.
Who we become emerges through sight,
& the next journey, was the answer.

David Johnson Nov 2013

"Paris"

It's more about spiritual wealth.
The high boutiques,
And endless summers of theatre.
The musette grooves in the street, under moonlight.

In the structures,
Was Helen's unbreakable spell, to the trojans.
The winters were evidently chill,
& Van Gogh was entertainment,
Over wine, piano's & paraodies.

The evening symphonies created,
A loving bind between heart's, ears & eyes.
Charismatic wonders were explored,
Nature became answered prayers.

The festivals released blessings to all.
& the gardens received the most.
Giving willpower more color and effect,
In the life,
Of paris.

The centuries of war and poverty,
Held a revelation,
Of Napoleon's wisdom.
Agreeing to seek light through art.

The Paris Plague,
Transformed the innocence,
Of the Seine River,
Into a revolutionary paradise,
For a month.

I can't wait to see Paris some july.

David Johnson Nov 2013

"I Understood"

I can't understand the "why's"
Our perceptions give us whatever it believes,
And with that, we stumble & fall,
Continuing the roads.

I understood what passion was,
That rare value, of human context,
And heart's racing.

A trapped amount of time,
Pieced together,
with warm blessedness.

I can't understand the "for what's"
Learning some wisdom is what gives us this art,
That we go to war with.

I understood what being noble becomes.
A guardian of sky & moon,
And the only way,
To see,
In this ultimate darkness.