In the summer,

I’ll project the skies,
And roam the lands.

I’d paint my eyes,
with things revived.

I’d find the rhythms,
And unleash their beauty.

I’d write maps,
Of all my caps.

I’d start into planes,
And come back sane.

I’d draw the dimensions,
And seek their tensions.

I’d flap my wings,
And sing the ways.

The ways the skies,
Speak to my eyes.

The ways the planes,
Creep their pain.

The way beauty revives
Its trains of madness.

I’d see that
All up in the sky,

And hear echoes,
Of whispers and cries.

To a point that
the Mind
shall silence
it’s voice.