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Kevin Deering Jul 2015
There is not a measure exists in world, that can examine the mysteries of the heart that loves you. I did not know the depth, the vastness. That if one was to dive an everending fall. There are seasons to this world, the summer to the month of may, the cold and ice, come christmas. I am around when everyone sleeps. When those that want dream, and the steps to the sky are clear to the naked eye. I watch and tell sweet stories, now and of past, of the former and propper ways of a world unknown, And witness growh. Growth of an unknown kind and fall of a told kind that goes unnoticed.
My time is silent, clouds move across my head and face. Whispers of something I wait to embrace. I am not alone, I know this from the warm that approaches.From that which beats of pureness, a glowing that expands past reaches of understanding, beyond discovery. There is no conceavable end to your love and beauty. This time that I exist sees things that move Without the want of eyes to see, move slowly then quickly then again I am far above. I see alot of things and cannot speak. So I spread my arms, wide and hope I will not go unnoticed. It hapens now your time is approaching. I admire you daily. Time stands still around you, wishing to freeze itself. You rise, eyes open and gaze up longing to be near you. You have a glow so bright.You stretch around the round, around the figure that I surround. It motions, it moves things drop and fall. They do not understand but they try. You guide, your given to see the hope that is inside. To feel not alone, but one. The night and the Sun. We meet sure yes on the streets. While I lift my veil I glance knowing you will always be there, while hurt upon a flower your flame would burn to close. You see, you look up as you create your pressence, and move away me, the night. They will always look up knowing that you are there. Why does it rain? To bring moisture to all the pain. I tried to bribe the clouds you see, I promised them somehing in a far off place. But you are there no matter,because they see where they are going. You are the persuit of a greatness that will last forever. Nohing overwhelms. You know me and yes you love me. While you go down to sleep I will watch over and keep. Keep for you the sun, the things that you have won. When seasons change you effect the growing. Things move towards and not away. You are wanted, you are loved. I cannot speak and you are the sun. Forever we shall dance and know that we are one. We will know that without the other no longer we exist. The last, these few words, few gestures I promise it will be well. We are married to one cause. To contain and to inspire.For created I am endless and you the entire. Entire hope stilled upon the end of a pin. A point to prove. I see you, you see me now let us on the horizon be
Cuz while ya steel got
moxie, don't nix chance if only a dot
before death finds
     flesh rotting alot.

A self-actualized fringe benefit
     as I racked up
     orbitz round sun -
     with increased measured,
     (albeit neglected) ragged, and
     shot thru tattered (turn shroud) -
     regarding chronological yardage
brought to my dimming wattage -

sputtering third eye blind, sans
     hindsight surveying extensive
     emotionally frenzied groveling with
     a lifetime penitential wreckage,
whence urgent critical (update)
     foisted upon formerly entrenched
     hermetically sealed voyage -
sequestered self wrought fallout,

     viz long stretches of
     time irretrievably gone with the wind
     found me averse toward
     commingling with village -
peopled within sin king
     precincts of Lake Woebegone
     joyus kneaded livingsocial
     natives, now visa

     vis (nee this past
     and present atheist)
     discovered the healing power
     of powder milk biscuits,
     when accommodated within Norwegian
     bachelor farmer vicarage),
qua pained obligation now
     imposed kickstarted mandate

     to pay dying wage
clearly written along,
     the sub weighted psyche walls
     (over time) easily read
     across my wrinkled visage,
where former cumulative
     years of existence
     pitched yours truly

     figuratively teetering upon
     precipice of abyss gave vantage
     written in telltale creases
     countenance spelling umbrage,
against me - asper tonnage
     schlepping psychological Matthew
     Scott Harris "baggage,"
wrought from decades

     worth of uncultivated tillage
cuz n'er did I gather rosebuds...
     during prime mortal teenage
stretch, thus present
     day agonizing suffrage
yawning chasm miserably houses
     bleak (Dickensian) testimony,
     sans recovered anorexic

     (NO...NOT... NEVER
     bulimic), but feebly
     endured desultory stage
punctuated quasi (moat)
     towed riddled rattle trap ship
     of state into deadly scrimmage
defies propped up
     moxie succombing unrelenting

     weathering, unforgiving savage
nasty, brutal and short sabotage,
wherein futile - short
     changed growh opportunities
     forfeited developmental stage
opportunities introverted
     vehemence doth rage.

— The End —