Is it even possible to contemplate a sea of promises unfolding petal by petal like an open book made of glass?  If I saw my world as a heartbeat would tonight be different than the flight of my past?

Why should everything dwell among a skin of silent beauty while the fire waits for meaning from a grain of sand?  Is it because our eyes lack hearts that sing to the butterflies as they arrive and land?

Should I hide behind the universe of whispering trees and brush my hands across the doors that keep me wishing? Until, I wonder if I’ll run out of rhymes if I part myself from my inner beauty misting.

I have secrets I hear laughing full of words that speak to me as a lion knocks down the door of breaking all the rules.  Still, I want to touch the glory of solitude’s lovely face and dance with mischief’s fool.