The singing of guitars sends flickering sparks from the ground,
like fireflies, dancing with the tinges of sound,
a beautiful limitless sky unfolded before us,
It could be torn down for them, if they wanted.
Introspection brings silence on public transportation,
because of independent movie scenes that break the outcasts' form,
and so they wear their pea-coats and knit caps,
and paint the picture that they're unique,
when the individuality of an individual cannot be measured through appearance alone,
it is a life-spanning process,
in the choices we make,
and the promises we break,
and the pills that we take,
that erase our memories and turn us into marble statues,
beautiful husks with nothing really inside.
We say that we're profound,
and advanced,
so we take to the ground
without another glance
and shake this rock to its core,
just to find the meaning,
of suburban children,
who spend their lives dreaming,
to prevent rhyme or reason,
cannot be the case,
as across any seasons,
winds will whip your face,
and hold their sting,
as if to say,
“you are the sum of percentages,
dividing the minutes in a day.”,
standing on this precipice,
can we dare to try,
to make real these internal lists,
and bring them in contact with eyes?
The critic a pauper,
The sinner be free,
realization of our appetites,
limitless.