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They say a picture is worth a thousand words and I'm looking to make murals in your likeness
Something that would reflect how truly beautiful your soul is to me

Maybe a watercolour based painting or would pastel-coloured chalk do?

Should I focus on the brightest hues and play down darker tones?
                                                          ­           But your darker side is the part of you I love most.

Let's play with the lighting;
                                               shadows and rays make one more aware

I'd love to create a backdrop, possibly a place you feel most vulnerable and bared
                             The limitless possibilities, the mediums and the inspiration you bring me

Perhaps barring your soul is a tad too blasé?
               Let's dig deeper and find something more suitable for your mural

                                                          ­                                                                 ­        How about an impression?
                                                     ­                                                                 ­                     How I feel about you?

Oh my, that is personal...
                                                     ­   yet entirely too brilliant to ignore!

I could just go on and make a mural that much clearly expresses how I feel about you
The way you talk, the way you walk;

                                                          ­      That particular smile and glint in your eyes
                                                            ­              when something intrigues you
                                                             ­                 and you're up to no good.


Ah, the marvelous mystery I have yet to uncover that is you!
                                                            ­         But the fun is no doubt in trying to capture your essence

Ah, here I go prattling on and on about mysteries and emotions,
I'll get to work and I'll set up my drafts and display them to you...
                                                          ­                The Mural will be breathtaking.

but of course, not as fascinating as you.
Devlin Andrew Harris inspired this piece of writing with the very first line.
"They say a picture is worth a thousand words and I'm looking to make murals in your likeness"
I hope I did it justice.
When I'm high I want to eat with my hands.

The texture is part of the experience.

I thought I was being philosophical
But I know I was being annoying.
Wait in the wings
The angels are going to sing
This place is gone but here
And though it's so far it's so near
A fleeting moment gone so fast
In this theater of Stained Glass
If spring draws the earth
in golden streaks of life,
I long to hear
the songs of the bluejay.

I long to hear anything.

For all I hear when you open
your mouth
is a chime of chide
and the rustle of grit:

the grinding of your
restless heart
so full of
hate.
Why. Am. I. Breathing?
Why. Is my heart, beating?

I'm staring at the question
staring back at me.
(Why am I breathing?)

I fog my daze
with smokes and ****.
(Why is my heart beating?)

Why do I have eyes?
All for me to realize.

Tell me once
I'll lose it twice.
(Why do I have eyes?)

My crystal dance -
my only vice.
(For me to realize.)

Why am I moving?
Timelessness is soothing.

Existing as one
time is a maze.
(Why am I still moving?)

I pray I can stay
inside my crystal daze.
(Timelessness is soothing.)

Why is my chest burning?
What is my heart yearning?

Twisted lessons
elysian lies.
(Why is my chest burning?)

Distracted sight
and rooted ties.
(What is my heart yearning?)

Why do my feet itch?
How was my neck bit?

Kisses from the ocean
to the sky above.
(Why do my feet itch?)

Tasted trails of
tasteful love.
(How was my neck bit?)

Embark my empty canvas.
I pray upon the numinous.

New winds need face
for new minds embrace.
(Embark my empty canvas.)

Tuck in my shoelace
for love, I trace.
(And pray upon the numinous.)

Look at me breathing!
Feel my heart beating ?!

I'm staring at the heavens
staring back at me.
(Look at us breathing.)

I clear my gaze
with love and ease.
(Of knowing my heart is beating.)

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX
brumous:::of.grey.skies.winter.days.filled.with.heavy.clouds.or.fog.winter.cold.sunless.weather.
quaintrelle:::a.woman.who.emphasizes.a.life.of.passion.expressed.through.personal.style.
leisurely.past.times.charm.and.cultivation.of.lifes.pleasures.
elysian:::beautiful.or.creative.divinely.inspired.peaceful.and.perfect.
numinous:::describing.an.experience.that.makes.you.fearful.yet.fascinated.awed.yet.attracted.
the.powerful.personal.feeling.of.being.overwhelmed.and.inspired.
After reading about some tribal warfare in a far away land, I wrote this true story down. Now re-published every year on this day. Seems more appropriate than ever

one July 4th,
many years ago
walking the streets,
of the city of Nice,
situe on the Cote D'azur of France,
on the Mediterranean Sea,
where ships of navies
may safely park their sailors,
sending them ashore for R&R,^
they, leavened to disembark^^

how I came to be there is a
poem for another time

walking the streets,
palm tree resort,
along La Promenade Des Anglais,
coming at me,
Three Sailors,
unmistakably
American

one white,
one black,
one brown from California,
which I believe,
is still part of the USA

how we fell upon each other
in warm embrace,
smiling, bestowing
blessings of grace
not as strangers,
but as fellow signatories
on the Declaration of Independence

brothers,
long lost, reunited,
as if it had been many years,
since we last had our arms entwined,
one family from one far away united place

dialectical differences ignored,
even the wide-eyed 'Bama boy,
totally comprehensible, for on that say,
we spoke a language that
encompassed a single brotherhood,
a common histoire,
all on that
holy day

no tribes in America, no colors,
no religions,
only sisters and brothers-in-arms

I need not choose to believe,
for it is certainty guaranteed,
that should it happen again
twenty years hence,
perhaps with their great grandsons,
my embrace will,
exactly the same be,
for I know it true,
there are
no tribes
in an

American heart
^ Rest and recreation
^^disembarked to be leavened....either ok

written in 2013, but true story that occurred many years prior
how timely for this day and time
liturgical language of wind whispers in the pines.
the sky filled with the pearly puffs of Her word.
the hymnal call of the mountains.
angles rise from the depths of lakes.
the taps of rain on the ground proclaim the Almighty.
cavernous churches entombed within the minerals
of Her love.
upon Her watery canvas She paints portraits
of Her ardent, blue dreams of eyes, and erases them
with each passing kernel of time
repainting them just as fast.
paradise.
pinnacle of unselfish endeavors.
untainted beauty encapsulated in Her smile
She is good; She is infinite; She is yes.
my only escape,
ever-faithful,
unchanging beauty.
all is held within the womb of Nature,
waiting for birthing death into the ethereal.
thank god for Nature.
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