I have my pills my love but i forgot how much i took
Light white is emerging from both sides of my eyes
I feel a slow rundown of cool wind down my spine, something up and coming down from my gut..
this shiver up my spine reaching my neck
air slowly retreating out of my ears,
out of my mouth
My vision fully white now and all I here is an echo of my heart
It’s getting far, its fading, its leaving like a train from its station.

I found this person one day in daylight of December.
Sleepy eyes felt a bit uptight and never expected to be connected..
This person turned out to be the person i needed.
I needed this companion, this beautiful soul..
To laugh was easy, vulnerable so much.
This person, this friend has a unique quality.
In the sense, this person can talk, I mean talk straight.
This person, this soul, can see through walls..
Shakes me, traps me, till I drop my act.
It's new that an influence like this can clear things up.. More like it's rare that someone can tear right through..
The prince of my barren ego went out for a walk
The door is still open, wait, if he comes back..

Dire thoughts of abandonment were the first to rush in..
The family, the folk would tear apart.
From hatching, catching flight and wandering,
  a bird's life writtten in stone.
Each twig collected with joy, each effort painful as it is made with hope.
With it, built, the nest, the folk.
The day of the high winds, dusk and dawn,
with it dust, debris and perils of another land.
Saw the nest, knocked on the ground
In disorder existence becomes unnatural.
In disorder existence becomes meaningless.
The nest, the folk, its debris on ground..
In disorder existence becomes a replica.
A hand can make us whole.
A thought escapes my mind,
  of ever being whole..  again..

A desire to be whole becomes an illusion.

I saw a lynx as you left..
The dusk fog lighter, a bitter sweet brighter that makes it clear...
  Under the nest, by the trees.. The mythic lynx who sees through walls..
  Unravels hidden truths, the clairvoyant cat.
The nest up, holds our folk.
Each twig making sense, each twig an essence.
The wind may come, it could knock the nest.
The mythic fox in the blue, light dust, lighter fog,
Shows of a fire from faraway land.
The wind may come, carrying it, it could come.
Ashes could be carried in the following wind to the next cove.

Seedling are born when a hand plants them.
A stranded seedling is an act of war, not of logic.
The war s within, invicible within the folk you've built, above the lynx in the nest you've built.
Remember, the lynx is mythic, it has clear vision.

   A child's eye captures amazement in all..
   A broom is a horse, a stick is a sword.

A farmers duty is to water and love.
As it is essential, it's another twig, another part.
Unguided rage will bloom in those,
who were never touched by the farmers hand.
As that hand disipates the folk disipates.

One more thought, the lynx sighs.
Your horse neighs, the path is thick.
It neighs when hope seems far.
The path is thick the fog is bigger.
Travel safely, reach home early.

The lynx bows when in retreat,
I bow in respect.
The wind is coming, have to prepare.
The fallen twigs can be put togather again.