All you see is a smile on her face Or how she walks with elegance and grace How her laughter echoes in the air And how the wind moves her hair You see her lips painted in red You see the tiara placed on her head You see everything she lets you see But what you don’t see is the real ‘she’ If you really want to see her, get closer See her anxieties, strangled together Look at her tears, she hides them better Look at her soul, a withered flower Close your eyes, if you want to see more Can you see that pain, there is lot more These criss-cross lines you feel on her arms They are the traces, of her hidden scars See there in the corner, her heart is lying see it is bleeding, but not much crying Listen to the secrets, she whispers in the dark Hold her hand and you’ll feel a spark Behind the surface there’s a lot to see Deep in her eyes there’s a hidden mystery
A lot of mysteries are hidden behind the smile that she carries.
her eyes were black no trace of white around and I always wondered what they reflected did they reflect her soul her endless soul full of mysteries hidden in the depth concealed by her only for her to see or were they a reflection of what has been and what will inevitably be the beginning and the end of time
THAT in my fever while sanity has escaped by baluster i continue to gaze in daze across the sea of white- capped madness
Each o-shaped mouth Each Black-bead eye and all the ears all the chins teeth
speak an infinite story of nothing but sadness. And within the orchestral pit finely dressed musicians they shed b-flat note tears; their mannequin powder-white skin a color of pink's sunsetting murmur.
Simply, the true story is off stage toward this improbable army audience; the finely carved polychrome citizens start to move; half-bodied and more alive than the flesh-kingdom.
Last night. Last night i felt. That one's life can be as real as one's imagination if you sinerely wish it.
:: 08-23-2018 ::
wishing the reader to decide what it means for them
What is worth a writer's many words When the ink holds your meaning like something at the tip of your tongue?
When your eyes finally perceive what your soul feels and your ears hear what your spirit receives
When you dwell be it in high ground or on low valley When you look to the sky or cast your face down to the ground.
You look longingly into eternity awaiting something all worth more that this. Longing for meaning, purpose, life, a reason to live a reason why you breathe and do the things you do.
Longing for connection, relationship; Longing for mercy.
It is in the journey of a lifetime that we realise the hidden things
When the deep cries out to deeper waters; When we look longingly into the mysteries.
Thus it is in those that our restlessness yields, and we find peace despite calamity.
When we shall see even the face of God who once dwelt with us.
What is worth a writer's many words when the ink holds your meaning like something at the tip of your tongue? It is worth more than this, that meaning be even found in this life and moves beyond to something much greater than this.
In the open air of a night still young, my imagination was let loose and the story I had to tell seized me. Free was I to wander the dark and witness mysteries unfolding in the shadows that foretold the coming of the light. Remembering that life is a remarkable adventure and that we're all just one ray away from being a sun to someone.