I sat in a room full of unlucky souls.
Waiting to hear the sound of something pure
something worth hearing.
Then a small blonde headed boy
ran towards me and said
"what do you do"
and I realized
I couldn't answer him
My youth was my biggest achievement to date
how pathetic.
He reminded me of that.

Swollen lips and tongues of wandering souls,
resonate through a calm darkness.

The bark of our shyness, is falling away from our trunk like souls.
We are opening our pages, to pens of other entities that are foreign to ourselves. This freeing from shackles, of what before was curtained and hidden, has allowed an expansion of feeling.
Our emotive scribbles have been the pornographic musings of other well trained eyes.
We pray that this exposure will be met with grace and sincerity.
However our minds by giving in to this release are made stronger,
and somehow more calm.
They are brewing with a happiness which will soon be substantial enough to digest.
Let this be the serotonin substitute our being has craved.
We are now safe and surrounded by warm friends who cushion our beings with love.

The sharp clipped tones of a passive nightmare have entered the creamy sea, that exuded calm only moments ago.
Now all that is left is the wait to see.
Whether the cloudy, hazy future will clear to rays of sun,
or whether it will incur a blitz like storm, of unforeseen doom.
I wait patiently for my fate to arrive.

Cosmic tides hammer the stellar atmospheric shore,
with there cannons firing arcs of illumination.
They Flick and wander
along the experienced and travelled ground.
Which absorbs the life breathed into it, whilst
it gently nods back, to the sphere of light.
That ebb and flow of coddling, comforting energy
caresses the most vulnerable centre of our soul,
Our spirit is granted the tepid heat it demands, so it can bathe and dance in joyous realisation.
A self awareness is reached, a moment of truly unexpected clarity.
We are mere scenery in a infinite story of euphoria.
Our roles are to gain all we can,
But.
Materials are even smaller scenery, just props that interchange between acts and scenes.
Memories and experience are the true treasure of mankind.
Platinum.
Gold.
Silver.
Bronze.
All the things we have valued over our minds because we fear the loss of the glass house, we have built around ourselves.
The fear of the  gleaming yet storm prone waters of endless epiphany,
has driven us into the thick, opaque sludge covered shoreline of individualism and self loathing
However as we allow our gaze, so full of hope and awe to see over the clearing clouds that once blackened our horizon.
We fill our hearts and lift our spirits and confess to ourselves,
even if only in hushed and softened whispers.
That we have the gifts to forge and cast our own paradise with the divinity of our existence.