life
seems
so
brittle
as
the
soft
milkweed
dandelion
who
dance
ju­st
a little

the
strangeness
of
your
sweet beauty
is
a
metamorphosis
of
you soul
the
strangeness
of
your
beauty
to
come
forth
when
you
burst
­out
from
the
cacoon

preist
are
men
who
hide
behind
their
thick black robes
thus
make
confessions
to
holy statues
and
paintings
inside
the
church walls
and
whispering still
their
confessions
again and again
of
other
man
who
cheat and steal
yes
these
priest
are men
because
these
priest
are real

only
when
our
souls
that
have fallen
from
the
heavenly
stars
are
to
meet
and
greet each other
near or far

when
you
look
into
the
eyes
of
the
green monster
with
bloodshot eyes
and
a whiskey smile
and
it
is
only a reflection of me

truth
bends
the
arcs of light
just
ask
the
bashful
rainbow
after
the
quiet storm
oh
what
joy and delight
when
truth
bends the light

water
may
flow
through
our
cupped hands
thus
rushing
towards
the
river of light
that
sing out
the
sweet words of glory