For eight hours I was dead
Dead in my Luxury lord's bed
I did not care of weather or bread
Life Lynchs me, she's so rude
I turned left to the wrath of hell
I must tell you, hell is already here
My flesh cozy but my soul yell
This is the earth that we do share
I had said Kamar is nothing but a myth
I am twice correct But today we meet
Call the priest who collects my tithe
Should I be blind after I paid for sight
The poor man, honey do pour
His healthy heart in tattered coat
The rich man, stings do pour
His thorny heart in costly coat
I stole from myself, the truth
For I am blind of the lamb birth
I chose the Golden crown of earth
For I am sightful of the lustful fruit
I woke up to the man in the mirror
Tears roll his eyes while I smile
Eight hours and it was lemon without fresh lime
Sour and bitter saint of the carcass in the mirror
The frogs croak and
the wind whips by.
It is a nice summer evening to spend
Sometimes we drive and
we do not go anywhere,
like the rest of the tired people-
running, running, running.
But for now the crickets chirp and
the music on the radio is quiet.
A white noise that is safe
to lose yourself in.
We are together,
in this moment,
and life has spared us time to
experience the universe,
and the wonder of being alive.
You weave your fingers through mine,
and while we do not slot together
quite like puzzle pieces,
it is comfortable.
For this pocket of time,
I have one hand interlaced with yours,
and my other hand steering the both of us
gently away from our worries.
for this pocket of time,
we simply exist.
One time when I was on acid
I climbed to the top of a mountain
And mimicked the trees
Danced in the breeze
Colors pulsing from the roots to the leaves
Has a purpose to be
A choir of soft voices
But the hums are enough to comfort me
They keep me warm on this balcony
Eye witness to the wayward souls of the young
Talkin shit and fighting for fun
They entertain me
But like all pups
still in training
They sleep too long, play too much,
Bite too hard, drink too much
Can I join the club?
Sullen and crestfallen the autumn leaves silently fell,
Mourning the loss of the pure heart set adrift within,
The bitter northern winds serving as a reticent death knell,
Grieving over the loss of the pure lass astray in deerskin.
Drawn to the forests of Myrkviðr for reasons unknown,
She wandered within the woods until all spirits were silent,
Ancient limbs reaching out to caress her delicate cheekbones,
Likening her to newborn blossoms both virgin and vibrant.
Decades have flown by like wind since that day,
Memories as faded and tattered as her deerskin,
A beautiful soul lost to time through innocent naivete,
Life continuing as it always had in the woods within.