Who am I to say what I know,
When what we see, and are taught to believe,
Is who we are.
Complex, yet somehow it is Simpleness that we learn.
The screech, and yell, our fates, broken,
Unchained.

So many I have seen,

Some walking free, arrow in the heart,

Some forget others even exist.

Carefree, Rebellious.

But we accept guilt all the same.

A daring blood winked rose,

Shattered in dark pieces of night.

Who am I to speak my mind and be open,
Because what we can't see,
and won't believe,
Is who we become.

Somehow, I couldn't speak. Her smile opened the door every morning.
But this morning, it was her heart. That beating temple she sealed way
in a steel envelope, unready for adjustments, unwilling. But it was I,
who opened the mailbox with gentleness, simpleness. She gave in.

It was a swing, by the riverbank, where the lost creatures roamed.
We sat, and talked as if there was no world around us. Just hope,
crisp, in the wind, like dandelion hair. The racing water, running senseless,
up the shore. I saw a moment in her nourishing grin. A heaven without

clouds. A shoeless retreat, where her hand and mine were magnets.
This was love, unexplained. A portrait of fire, framed with white roses,
and the smell of aged wine. The minutes silently added more
to us. An uncharted evolution, of how things begin and where they go

when they end. It was reality that pulled her hand within a reachable
reach. It was her freedom that she as willing to pay for, that bought
these miles between us. It was a sudden **** that brought me back
into this quiet life, this tainted demise of a broken light. It was funny,

seeing her,     again.

The concept is an Illustration. That defining moment, when you
realize, you can do no more. Nor allow the heart to ever again
take a walk without our mind. My perception co exists with the
fearless barbarians, sent to make amends with the monsters.

The night, is a lonely bandit, stealing away our precious meddling.
Yet here I am. Taking this stroll upon a floor of stars & at free moments,
I skip, and whistle. For I have learned where to go when the rain pours
like milk. When the higher ground is below water. When love descends.

To the mountains for nourishment, by carriage, along the way
cutting trees, to give to the whitest of lights. I desire nothing more then
simpleness. A way of life forgotten, because of unfairness & injustice.
I desire this condemned future, a contaminated element, that our

souls, refuse to show us. I can no longer tell good or bad apart. My
weary eyes, sleepless, toss & turn like cars on the moon.

The sky sometimes calls my name,
A playful whisper, but serious. I travel
with the wind as a guide, on top of these
frustrated rocks who can never stand up

and stretch. My escape now belongs to
October. The broken saint he is. The
golden, oranges running the clouds,
on sunset. I saw what it meant to be good.

This lake surrounds every thought, from
this mindless night. Abstract reflections,
glowing far off. I give in to this kind of
beauty. My guard cant bare to coward.

And even, if it is love, I must pretend I
am of no soul. To avoid the heart break
of the beautiful, cold mornings alone.

Life comes and goes, they say.
A boy,
      whistling everyone to buy a newspaper...
       ... just enough for dinner, on the campfire.
..... becomes a man, with a house, a wife...& cold feelings.

The animals have heard god,
             ..... its why they do not speak.
Just eerie sounds, like musical voices. Mystic drums.

Who I was, had a heart for the new world.
A vision that one day, I'll live nature's dream.
Wash in the spiritless waterfall, on the warmest days.
Catch the sunlight with my hat, become heaven's puppet.

Who I am, has found an edge,
      ....& beneath,
         ..... was a civilization of nights and days alone
     strung together on a thread.

The dwellings of the cold rain, feast on this town.
I cater to this October morning.
This difference between you and I, is miles.
A distinctive nature that makes us,
        compatible or not with loneliness.
I see a fire at every glance in the tiger's eyes.
Spooky red mist, traveling between realms.
The avenger of recklessness.
The hero, without a name.
I go as this storm goes.
Wilting justice, dripping from our fingertips.
        &  sold for extensive freedom.
Yesterday's coward, hiding from the dark bringer;
        .... known as Tomorrow.
I would sell my soul to have only a voice
        that guides troubled minds.
Hands that knit back in place,
        fragile heart pieces.
That sings warmth into the cold nights.
Then I will know,
What God drinks..