Third eye aesthetic:
Two mirrors face each other,
Guarding the lamp-post.

It's about... yes.
Say yes to know,
Say yes to now.
Hold this moment in your god-shaped hole
Love it
Breathe it in
Taste it
See it
Then let it go.

Put away your cell phone
And dance.
Slow rock, back and forth
Feel the warmth from the other
Bask.
Bask.
Breathe in,
And let it go.
When it's time.
Trust me. When it's time, you'll know.

Sitting here and staring
Wondering why the who is where-ing
Determining how I should keep sharing
My heart, my breath, my barings

Overwhelmed with longing
I long to share myself with you
Staring at the open page
I long to see my words strike true

And in your eyes, I seek the light
And in the sky, I am the sun
Warm light of truth, you shine so bright
With you I fly, to come undone.

Empty.
Not empty the way a trash can with a new bag is empty.
Empty the way a new notebook is empty.
You open the cover, jot the name you claim as your own
Somewhere in the empty space.
The first page taunts you,
Possibility itself daring you to bring order to inherent chaos.
From the void, the first words ink themselves on the page,
Using your pen as their instrument.
You scratch them out, your words stricken through by a scribbley line.
Not good enough.
Not those words. Not this time.
Not to worry. You've got plenty of time.
Tear out the page. Now the second becomes the first.
Another blank page. Another second chance.
Another emptiness that is not as empty as it seems.

Something stirs inside its bed
That will not leave its words unsaid
Something from between the shadows
Something ancient, it's in my head
And it's asking me to let it live.

At first, it's just a tickle
But when it's at first ignored,
It soon begins to roar,
Demanding its presence be known
Demanding its right to be heard
And, as a seed, its right to be sown


Inside my head, it churns
And in my heart, it burns
And so it is I know
That I must think this one over:
I must let the ancient creature have its say.

While it enumerates itself to me,
I weigh its features carefully:
How clever is it?
Clever enough, I suppose.
Is it insightful?
Not terribly, but
I don't think this one needs to be.
Realistically, how useful would it be?
Well, it seems that,
Certainly, it could get the job done.

With the verdict now at hand,
It's obvious what must be done.
I must let the ancient thing free,
Though, admittedly,
I'm not sure it'll be too much fun.
But then again, of course,
Fun can't ALWAYS be the top priority.
So, as a farmer in his field,
Working hard to plant the seeds,
I set myself about my task,
Difficult though it's sure to be.

And as I help the ancient thing,
Working hard to become
What it was always meant to be,
I have to wonder
If, when all is said and done,
And this newborn idea has become reality,
I wonder if it's too much to hope
That, because of it,
And so, in part, because of me
Is it too much to hope that we,
That I and this ancient creature,
This new idea that I've unleashed,
Is it too much to hope
That we might bring the world a tiny bit of beauty?