An inward secret figure, lurking in the light, formed by sunbeam
rays, glittering the world with sparkles of gold. Inflating the very
importance on living. Meaning in poems, without words speaking
in melodies speech. Emerging in utter beauty, sourced from one’s
character. Spilling into one’s flesh. Distracted in one’s ambitions.
Building value, that’s all too human. Despite truth attained inside.
The outside flows of filling actions, producing praise in other.s
Personality is a veiling persona, playing the part, a life is one
continuous scene. Devotion, admiration, passions, all tingeringly
human. Though it takes one person, one glance, one conversation,
one interaction by another, in it’s accidental ways, normally one
stops to stutter and flushes inside, boiling redness, learning how
mundane they had lived, pointless it all was, finding another
purpose, unexpectedly from another. No middle way, on the
spectrum of extreme, wanting to **** the other, for being something
others aren’t. Creating love in a world made only for lovers.
Meeting fear for the first time. Understanding poetry without having
reading them. Colours alive. So we rose above, unable to commit
to a life that society had laid out. Never again are we alone in
our own lives, destined to be normal, living on the brink of void.
We create poetry in our own hands, crossing over to the muses
heaven.
(knowledge variable)
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 7:18 PM UTC
An inward secret figure, lurking in the light, formed by sunbeam
rays, glittering the world with sparkles of gold. Inflating the very
importance on living. Meaning in poems, without words speaking
in melodies speech. Emerging in utter beauty, sourced from one’s
character. Spilling into one’s flesh. Distracted in one’s ambitions.
Building value, that’s all too human. Despite truth attained inside.
The outside flows of filling actions, producing praise in other.s
Personality is a veiling persona, playing the part, a life is one
continuous scene. Devotion, admiration, passions, all tingeringly
human. Though it takes one person, one glance, one conversation,
one interaction by another, in it’s accidental ways, normally one
stops to stutter and flushes inside, boiling redness, learning how
mundane they had lived, pointless it all was, finding another
purpose, unexpectedly from another. No middle way, on the
spectrum of extreme, wanting to **** the other, for being something
others aren’t. Creating love in a world made only for lovers.
Meeting fear for the first time. Understanding poetry without having
reading them. Colours alive. So we rose above, unable to commit
to a life that society had laid out. Never again are we alone in
our own lives, destined to be normal, living on the brink of void.
We create poetry in our own hands, crossing over to the muses
heaven.
(knowledge variable)
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