1967 san francisco is transformed into city of missing children haight ashbury brims with scraggly orphans thousands sit on street curbs live in cars hang out on floors of shops roam streets parks sleep on sidewalks unthinkable social cultural phenomenon Odysseus embraces madness walking through different neighborhoods going without food sleep in golden gate park floral smells so strong he can taste flowers kids openly pass joints acid doses trip dance make music laugh Odysseus is risk-taker but he is not street smart along with flocks of totally wasted kids street hustlers abound Odysseus sets down backpack beside eucalyptus tree rests when he wakes backpack is gone he is penniless disconnected hitchhikes across bay to berkeley less congested more manageable meets some runaways like him but not like him they squatter in abandoned house off telegraph avenue maybe 20 hippies crashing in house Odysseus adopts enormous closet hidden in back bedroom as his space has small window feels like sanctuary sometimes he comes home finds 5 or 6 kids sleeping in closet in a way people in house become his family tribe some of people are suspicious especially older secretive man with 2 tongue-tied underage girls whom he claims are his daughters Odysseus suspects veiled ****** exploitation girls are lovely yet behave frightened repressed life on street does not come easy telegraph avenue overflows with lost souls searching to hook-up fragrance of frankincense drifts amidst music drug deals rip-offs bullying brawls hierarchy from hell’s angels down Odysseus stays high dances sometimes panhandles “i live in commune with 2 pregnant girls” whatever cash he collects scores acid **** subsists on diet of gum candy sunflower pumpkin seeds sometimes ketchup with french fries his acne crescendos he learns if he drops acid daily by third or fourth day he cannot get off no matter how much he doses tries peyote cactus buttons after waiting nearly hour to get off he suffers stomachache dizziness projectile vomits finally flies into freaky hallucinations he swallows mescaline capsules feels sick to his stomach forgets about his nausea trips for 9 hours tries psilocybin mushrooms laughing straight through night experiments with stp trips for 3 days Bobby Stern and Martha Quigley come out from chicago to visit they are curious about the scene need to hook up Odysseus introduces them to his friends shows them telegraph avenue he turns and they have vanished he does not know where they have gone everybody is losing everybody new kids show up everyday oakland **** named red rat kidnaps Martha is heiress from distinguished chicago family their disappearance makes chicago papers after week Bobby and Martha manage to escape they never reveal to Odysseus what red rat did to them radio plays doors’ “light my fire” and jimi hendrix’s "purple haze" Odysseus has crush on beautiful blonde Patty she  ran off for summer from her parent’s home in sunset section of san francisco Odysseus and Patty hang out go see country joe and fish in provo park on sundays hitchhike into city watch Jefferson Airplane play for free in golden gate park hitchhike to marin see Grateful Dead jam at muir beach dude hands out free acid Odysseus is total acidhead acid reveals everything in new intensified light *** on acid is beyond *** wilder than *** more primal *** so intense it transcends limits of eroticism acid helps Odysseus realize his true self his pain sadness tears lies crazy-*** side first tingling tremors in stomach chest hands then initial flashes of sparkle traces of color echoes of giggling laughter lucid thoughts sometimes he swallows such large doses all he can do is stare out at white light what is it about massive hits of acid? measure of how fierce his spirit? self-punishment? escapism? he wonders why he so desperately needs to escape from what whom? himself? Mom’s numerous efforts to convince him he is mentally disturbed? Dad’s fists? escape from real world to where? Odysseus hangs with Pluto skinny 16 year old ****-addict golden wavy hair rotting teeth finesse with girls Pluto claims crystal **** enhances *** more than acid needles frighten Odysseus he lets one of Pluto’s girls hit him up with methamphetamine feels sudden overwhelming rush through head body forgets about needle before it ever leaves his arm having been initiated Odysseus begins scoring with Pluto’s girls Pluto knows tons of girls Odysseus loves feeling numb free being out of control not giving a **** getting ****** ****** by pretty girl if he could have his way he would go from ****** to ****** with pretty girl all day every day deep in drug induced state because drugs lower inhibitions allow them to explore some sick disgusting stuff that is paradise for Odysseus he is rapidly slipping into street life drug addiction wakes up with ants crawling in his hair witnesses numerous fights freak-outs 2 different kids o.d. while he is present lots of creepy stuff  by early august realizes he might wind up dead soon or rotting like Pluto Odysseus has spirit but troubled by what he sees troubled enough to return home go back to school he feels lost desperate alone not thinking plots drug deal swindle double-crosses some people guilt and shame for conning people haunts him for years he gives Pluto half the money tells him to share with Patty with his cut buys ticket back to chicago Penelope is first to greet him she gives him big hug comments “you need a shower and shave real bad!” his hair is wild scraggly beard Odysseus holds on to her he has missed his little sister glad to be near her feels panicky his parents will punish him Mom and Dad are relieved but agitated their worry and shame at his flight have turned to anger resentment they rationalize he selfishly ran off merrymaking for 3 months they sternly make plans for his next semester while Odysseus was away in california Penelope has ****** ******* for first time in back seat of Jed Zurbeck's black pontiac Penelope in secret goes to see doctor for pregnancy test doctor recognizes Penelope’s last name calls house Odysseus answers phone doctor asks to speak with Mr. or Mrs. Schwartzpilgrim Mom picks up phone doctor informs her Penelope is pregnant all hell breaks loose doctor makes house call with Mom and Dad present offers 2 options for Penelope “you can be picked up by limousine on state street and blindfolded you will be taken to an undisclosed location where abortion procedure is performed then re-blindfolded and returned by limousine to state street or you can report incident as **** and get signatures of three physicians then have abortion in a hospital” Mom and Dad choose to report it as a **** fabricate story about Penelope walking home from school and being grabbed pulled into alley by black man who rapes her Penelope is made to tell lie three times deeply disturbs her after abortion is done in hospital Dad makes Penelope swear not to admit abortion to anyone insists she tell Jed Zurbeck she made up stupid lie and she was never really pregnant Penelope obeys and tells no one

A calm and cool breeze
Passes through the leaves of the trees,
Persuading the branches to sway,
Like algae in a turbulent sea.
Without a cloud in the pale blue Arizona sky,
The sun radiates down-- hot and glaring.
It reflects off the shiny paint of the cars around me,
Illuminates the brown mountains in the distance.
And magnified through the thick lenses of my glasses,
It blinds my sensitive eyes.
The surrounding sempiternal desert
Is so clear and sharp,
That no one nor nothing can hide
(With the exception of the beings who can blend,
And despite my tiring efforts,
I am not one of them.)
The nearest Creosote bush
Eminates of the smell of water,
As it passes through a hose.
I am instantly transported back home
Where sand is replaced by grass and plants
That require regular watering to survive.
When I close my eyes I can see
The illusion of a waterfall, created by the uncoiling hose
As it ejects tepid water for us to traverse.
But upon unveiling my windows,
I allow the sandy landscape to penetrate into my soul
And I am brought back to the present
Where life subsists, illogically,
Through a dearth of water, and inordinate sun.

Beneath the water lived a nymph, beautiful as
A flower, if you like woman with petals
Growing from out of their face
And lips adorned with myriad metals
Moving silently with infinite grace.

Fishermen who caught her, in alarm
Tossed her back with dismayed cries
Fearful that she would do them harm
When she exposed her fangs, darting from her eyes,
Forked tongues from each palm.

But apart from all that, she was a delightful creature
As proud as a catwalk model
Sexuality impressed into each feature
Death in each cuddle,
Poison injected from each freshly opening suture.

At the sea’s dark bottom lived the nymph
Devouring fish raw, terrifying sharks and barracuda,
Dining on shellfish and prawns for lunch;
Darting amongst Angel Fish and eels, a hungry aficionada,
Tearing into shreds what she could not crunch.

Gentle with her own kind until coition
Was complete, when if hungry she devoured
Her temporary mate without undue consideration,
No please or thank you. Feeling duly empowered
By her actions, as confirmed by her explosive, acrid indigestion.

No longer young, her children dead,
She glides through the water from China to France
A preposterous seaweed hat upon her head
And in several places, impaling her scaly flesh a serrated coral branch.
Her sartorial taste filling even the sharks with fin-quaking dread.

The last of the kind. The others are (literally) toast.
Protected by animal charities here and abroad
She gladly subsists on ambitious swimmers who venture far from the coast
All she can now catch or afford.
A capricious tyrant until the last, when, victim of a fisherman’s boast

She was hoist up like iniquitous cod
Out of the sea, paraded on the deck while she struggled for breath.
Shot at. Abused. Poked and speared with a steel tipped rod,
Dragged into the harbour, pummelled close to death.
Screaming out, as she in unexpected agony died: “I thought, I truly thought, I was god!”

In the water
in the ocean
and in the sea
the litter that
subsists
eventually
knits together
far
in the corner
away
from the body
And while it surfaces
within the water
in the ocean
and in the sea
Litter never
rides with waves
for in our
rightful states
we ever
bind

She subsists in the cosmos of glamour.
Her eyes twinkle and eyelashes jiggle within the veil of the darkening mascara.
Her body glistens like the presence of phosphorous
Igniting the hearts for her swains.
She is among the stars synthesizing us to be powerless of reaching.
Her body moves like a mermaid pretending herself to be exclusive.
Her lips flutter words those are meant to be listened with sheer fascination,
and cannot be agitated.
Reigning her world she pretends herself to be the empress.
She makes, as well as breaks the hearts of a million,
Forbidding them to remonstrate.
She trends among the unknown with her charming attire- She is the moon.
Carried away by fame she shines,
Under her spell the hearts get enchanted too soon.

Clogging real life,
lost in the Great Barrier Mind.

It's attacking,
Again.

Never seen,
Never touched.
Yet this affection,
Grows stronger.

Everyday.

Inquisitiveness
Of his whereabouts,
Appearance,
Temperament and
His love of religion.

Who is he?
Descendant?
Age?
Every detail,
Unknown and
Unseen.

Yet I profusely yearn.
Yearning for his bejewelled devotion.
Yearning for his inimitable self.
Yearning for his yearns for me.

That is
If it subsists.

Mabel is breathing....
    no one ever visits.
She has tended flowers and done laundry all
    life for others.
No one needs her.
    She has a bad knee and
Neuropathy , subsists now on pain medication and sugars.
    No one calls her.
She envisions one day getting flowers.
    Or hearing again from that gentleman, who
twenty years ago smiled.
    Or her children or grand young ens';
but no one writes her one letter.
     In the cold she wears all those sweaters she knitted.
So no  people remember her, I will!
    I visit and bring the flowers I grew specially
for her,
    the prettiest yellow roses,
while she lives!

THE NYMPH

Beneath the water lived a nymph, beautiful as
A flower- if you like women with petals
Growing from out of their face
And lips adorned with myriad metals
Moving silently with infinite grace.

Fishermen who caught her, in alarm
Tossed her back with dismayed cries
Fearful that she would do them harm
When she exposed her fangs, darting from her eyes,
Forked tongues from each palm.

But apart from all that, she was a delightful creature
As proud as a catwalk model
Sexuality impressed into each feature
Death in each cuddle,
Poison injected from each freshly opened suture.

At the sea’s dark bottom lived the nymph
Devouring fish raw, terrifying sharks and barracuda,
Dining on shellfish and prawns for lunch;
Darting amongst Angel Fish and eels, a hungry aficionada,
Tearing into shreds what she could not crunch.

Gentle with her own kind until coition
Was complete, when if hungry she devoured
Her temporary mate without undue consideration-
No please or thank you. Feeling duly empowered
By her actions, as confirmed by her thunderously satisfied indigestion.

No longer young, her children dead,
She glides through the water from China to France
A preposterous seaweed hat upon her head
And criss-crossing her piebald nose a serrated coral branch.
Her sartorial taste filling even the sharks with fin-quaking dread.

The last of her kind. The others are (literally) toast.
Protected by animal charities here and abroad
She gladly subsists on ambitious swimmers who venture far from the coast-
All she can now catch or afford.
A capricious tyrant until the last, when, victim of a fisherman’s boast

She was hoist up like iniquitous cod
Out of the sea, paraded on the deck while she struggled for breath.
Shot at. Abused. Poked and speared with a steel tipped rod,
Dragged into the harbour, pummelled close to death.
Screaming out, as in unexpected agony she died: “I thought, I thought, I was god!”

Atheists insist that this existence subsists of nothing but
The density, material we feel and see and measure. What they're
missin' is in between the lines hooks and sinkers they bit
On the end of false authority's string, wrapped around their finger
They linger and cling to the things they've been spoon fed
From the same spoon belief was taken, the same they dread
But all they've pinned down for sure is themselves inside their heads
Waging internal war, thinking their thoughts can conquer
But only divide themselves
Every victory a loss when the attacker is the target
No stopping to look at the pieces, just charging ahead and trying to forget
No theory or equation slowing their self-invasion. No algorithm to save em. No laboratory haven
And when there's nowhere left to run, turbulent wakes don't wait, mental obliteration leaves you wracked and craven
But perhaps in the deepest rubble, after the foundations crumble
A seed may sprout that can see them out, new and humble
Unblinded equally to all sources of deception
Perhaps they can make a new life, a new perception
To err is human...but when we err far enough to break
We can rebuild, be reborn...a whole new future make.

The iron in your blood is palpable

And as my nose discovered it

It was like a new religion to me-

A break into your apartment

In the middle of the night,

Wearing knee socks and a football jersey,

Hallowing religious experience.



And as much as you like them

I can NOT appreciate Corn flakes.



My feline has found a base in my guitar case

Much like I have made a mansion,

A toasty nest in your dominance wafting veins.

Watching her lay there

I understand

What it is like to be.

What it is like to be

the supplier of ultimates

And not ultimatums.

Like how God feels when he see someone

Bathe in the diminutive properties.



And as much as you like them

I cannot appreciate Corn flakes.

They taste like toenails.



I want to fasten my seatbelt to this.

I want to send you text messages

That are blank and know you know exactly

What I meant to say.

I want to make love to you

Without ever touching you

Because grip might be too rough

For what subsists here.



I will eat your Cornflakes, Mr. Prufrock-

I will eat them up.

Deceit slithers across the vessel

embracing the stench

of the "would-be carcass".

A feast bestowed by

the imminent descent

awaits to serve

the new peasant king,

whose realm

is as torrid

as the desires

that demand

his presence there.



His eternity

now rubbernecks

the obscene art

which subsists

only by gulping

feverishly on

delicious torments

and  mourns

to witness the

silent testimony

of the sullied design

and  preventable death.

In May
The forest
Erupts
In aromas
"Did you miss me?"
It teases.

The mountain
Peaks
Denuded
Of white shawls
Flirt
With the sun.

My body
Subsists
Efficiently
On fruit,
Nuts,
And clear, cool melt
In May.

ode to Mabel

Mabel is breathing....
    no one ever visits.
She has tended flowers and done laundry all
    life for others.
No one needs her.
    She has a bad knee and
Neuropathy , subsists now on pain medication and sugars.
    No one calls her.
She envisions one day getting flowers.
    Or hearing again from that gentleman, who
twenty years ago smiled.
    Or her children or grand young ens';
but no one writes her one letter.
     In the cold she wears all those sweaters she knitted.
no one remembers her.  I will!
    I visit and bring the flowers I grew specially
for her,
    the prettiest yellow roses,
while she lives!

There is a significant person in my life,
one of which I have no acquaintance, one I do not truly know.
Merely an image my mind refuses to distinguish from the blur.
For even my waking life could not conceive the truth of the night he knew me.

Yet the image still lurks its way into my dreams,
the ones most surreal.
It subsists always in a threatening manner.
The road not to take, the wicked to the just.

It leaves me with no escape in my own world.
I cannot evade myself from this blur for long.
I cannot shake the feeling I felt that fateful morning.
I cannot disregard a loss of innocence in adulthood. An unnatural sensation.

I will never be able to ignore the physical pain I endured.
As much as I cannot see, I feel twice as much.
I could not explain where the pain came from, but I suffered through it days on end.
And the pain in my mind, the one subsiding itself into my head day after day,
nothing will restore the virtue I once held onto.
Nothing will cover my shame.

Years have passed, yet I have come to know,
that time does not heal all wounds.

Propitious clouds fill the horizon, blocking cosmic rays
Emanating from a lingering celestial beast.
On these grounds of substance, humanity subsists with a curiosity
Unquenchable mouths and minds
-- we begin a rampant search for meaning.
The vibrations of our search loosen the crust, exposing the fleeting nature of being
Bewildered by this discovery we blind ourselves with faith, as if we deserve more

Unable to see, we flee in a direction unknown for the chance that it may remedy our pleas. A shadowy remembrance of these requests ripple across arid aspect. Heedlessly stumbling upon past, present, and future, we careen towards the eminence of death. Desires fumes overwhelm, collapsing beneath these earthly plumes. Our last breathe exclaims,”Life is pain, for we are submersed in the mundane!”

Sensationally-- as our hearts begin to tread their last beats
Droplets of clarity deluge our dire thirst
-- propitious clouds that once smothered the horizon
Bequeath themselves of all significance, affixed at high noon

Exposing anew the celestial beast that emanates a sanguine gleam
Reflecting in the pools that surround our pulpy minds

In an infinite stretch of nothingness,
I have doubted my own existence
A void where mythical beings subsists,
Would an addition of mortals suffice?

What is out there beyond
Passing the boundaries of heavens?
Would it be another me,
Or would it be another expanse?

A sheer of grief, long lived inside me
For seeing my purpose, I have renounced hope
It wouldn’t be painless, vast universe have told me
Life will be impossibly easy, I just need to cope

Oblivion is for the brave hearts
Though I tried to assimilate,
It would only seem I exaggerate
The cosmos’s an abyss, would never feel at ease

Ego beats me for eternity
No matter how Adam tries to tell,
The explanations would never tally
Deepest in him, conflicts will always dwell

She seeks the thermal column.
Spiraling upward, realizing a panorama of her domain.
Perfect paradox, the effortless grace of flight and the harbinger of death.
She subsists on the rot of nature, continuation of the life cycle.
Untouchable of the firmament.

As I will
As I like it
As my will
As it gives recursive themes of
Strength and fancy
Weakened by the real
It subsists;
It is
Cannot not be:
As they loathe it.
As I was:
My sunlit energy precedes, preceded me
Some life in me that speeds towards
Metabolism that speeds towards
Eventual cell death
Respiration--
Deeply respirating
I halt for no respite
Despite the leaning apprehension
Towering over what Is in me;
The roaming imposition
Of what there will be—
It seeks me
It wanders and stops occasionally
And devours something imagined
That heaven I had made
That Will that I had suffered
As it will.

La, la, la
The red sea drifts
On tumultuous rifts
Aging tank subsists
On what's left in the wreckage
Purple reflections
Seen on oily surfaces
& the sky combines
Its blue tones with
The contents raging
& stewing'
In its hungry belly

If you seek a remedy
outside the balm of oval pill
or a spoon of sour taint
beware the toil on substitutes
a mortal coil could give relief
redress what fate has abused
the broken strive to sustain
with the help of temporal prey

lingering wounds demand too much
beware the bill someone pays
when the check does not care
agony will remunerate
services rendered tap the weak
no pound of flesh is the price
instead the toil taps the heart
wringing emotions from tired stone

one subsists at the end
now the strong in contrast
to the frail forever lost
healer fallen with no net
the weak cannot be the cure
even as they may recline
on the alter as sacrifice
for the selfish consuming love.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180912.

Imagine the width of forgiveness that subsists in the breath of the world, for beauty continues to exist even when we don’t deserve it.

(I want to do something to deserve it)

The powers that be,
build up incessantly.
The world is bleak,
Do we have to be?

The gravity of nature,
The swirling thunderstorm,
A hurricane that sweeps,
across even Mount Rushmoore.

The growing strength of nature's wrath,
The unrelenting of force of our own mind's stab.
Suffering which mixes, condenses and grows,
Is there an end to this unrelenting flow?

The answer is Strength, overwhelming Power.
The Will to overcome all that is Nether.
It is Mind that exists, with its growing splendour,
an energy that subsists, on its own grandeur.

In the face of depression, painful it may be,
the mind self-perpetuates, what it thinks is good for thee.
Soon people confuse the darkness in mind,
To be the very, nature of mind.

How wrong could they be?
How could they not see?
That it is not mind, but their own strength that is,
the thing that has created,
all the stress there is.

To break this reality, the conditioning which is,
To overcome the nature of all that do this.
To shatter conceptions, notions overcome,
Trust is the first step, which will overrun,
all of the things built up to this day,
Like a strong men's will, easily swept away.

So what will you do? Will you believe?
Will you take the first step, so that you can truly see?
Will you walk the long path, with the powers that be?
To face nature's wrath, and society's bad deeds?
Will you all trust yourself, all your strength held in,
And hold fast against the storm, raging within?

Death doesn’t exist,
And I refuse to believe in life.
This world consists
Of incapacitating time.
We are all starving signatures
Of an experiemental joke,
And everything we create
Just makes me ******* choke.
All that exists subsists of rot,
A wasted penance, long forgot,
I lay the framework
The words became murk
While the public sits
And bathes in ****,
I don’t want any part of it.
-
Release me. I don’t belong here,
I’ll eradicate anything in my way here,
Subliminally inserted masquerades
Confuse the minds of the weak,
sitting without thought in this charade,
Confounding the blinded to weep.
I’m only suicidal in the mornings,
But the evenings bring contempt,
The hatred spawns new beginnings,
The death brings our lament,
Death doesn’t exist,
And I’ll never believe in life.

All in the dark
under a pitch black sky
A phantom walks
Through a deserted isle

Shuddering the silence
anomalous howls as it lurks
Sniffing the mortal’s blood
To satiate insatiable thirst

As he makes his move
In a deceiving grace
To Compel by his charm
Conceding victim to become his prey

A submission by will
To an animus intention
Never would the mortal wake up
After this partial execution

acclaiming the reign of the dark side
while taking over the sane
Asserting evil commendation and power
Intrudes his teeth deep into the vein

Drinking from the mortal
Feeds himself on the fluent lifeline
Taking in his existence
This immortality he confides

Never ending hunger
An unquenchable thirst
Provokes him every time
To spread this malevolent curse

Hiding himself in the darkness
His immortality limited to night
Fearing noxious consequences
Always runs away from light

This prohibition to luminosity
To avoid, in a casket he sleeps
Again as the night falls
The prince of darkness creeps

Bound by the rules
This place he subsists and dwells
Inflicting the deadly curse
As he lives through a curse himself…

Her greatness subsists
In simple humility
Praising God, her King.

forgive my propensity
to write incessantly
'bout this woman dear to me
for I just cannot resist
her essence that subsists,
that encompasses my entirety
my unconscious
it compels me
to write her, a poetry.

We have been watching this orb now for what, 20,000 years?

Plato 2215 made by the Crtalbols on Circes X, answered
in his beeps and borgles (hereafter translated to English)
said, at least that long.  Until now a most boring science. It took these,
****, what, oh yes, humans, 19900 years to figure out relativity.

Zybert sighed. Yes P,  he called the half biological one-quarter chemical and one- quarter mechanical droid, it has been a time, and that Einstein
looks a lot like your mom did, or, those biological components of you.

Until this last election, I thought these "humans" P borgled out with emphasis showing his disdain, were uneventful and fully boring as
those things on our planet Circes X those rock like creatures that never move but once in a light year, and that, a small scratching of their reproductive parts.

Zybert giggled out his long probosci's thing
spraying sparks and what looked like graffiti,
actually, shredded styrofoam on which he subsists. He tucked his six arms around a mass of pus protuberances I suspect is his stomach chortling.Yes, I suspected their total stupidity. I saw them going to war left and right all over the blue sphere. Always restless from the beginning. He said catching his breaths.

But, when they fell for our Cyborg Donald which we fabricated out of an ancient Rackist 1785 x2 .***  lying board and pasted that yellow excrement you **** daily as his hair and that complexion, so orange....hahaha!!  How dumb are these things?

her infinite wisdom is implied
throughout
a cloudless winter sky
playful winds
dancing with glee
high atop
a swaying maple tree
lone bird subsists
on January branches
warm sun melting snow
the glistening enhances
glittery white diamonds
in amongst the trees
the poetic beauty of nature
speaking to me

after much thought, Jack, and much watching,
I must say that I disagree:
while no, we must not wait for her silvery flashes,
you cannot chase her down with a club, I fear.

she is the timidest of all fragile creatures,
mist-fine, shyer than summer snow;
she bruises easily, for she is tender & swelled with the magic we seek.

she will not be hunted, she is sharper than us
she will hide over horizons beyond our ken
she will slipslide into darknesses we cannot reach
beyond saltwater, stars, ends and beginnings

she is the heartbeat of the butterfly,
she chases gold along the edges of our reality
she is a mirage and so painfully real
you cannot pursue such a creature with the brutality of mortal force.

coax her. let the strains of sound like raindrops of starlight play.
close your eyes. her whispers will be faint,
almost faded, but when you hear them --
a soulquake of colours, like the most miraculous of sunrises,
the most peaceful and blessed of firestained sunsets.

assure her. approach her as an equal, another magical being:
flutter your wings, sharpen your fangs, weave webs with her.
play her music, offer her gifts, offer her your open heart.

she will wait. behind every blockage, she will wait.
embrace her frail form, and she will turn the world
into all the wonders you've ever dreamed.
because she subsists on your dreams;
this is a two-soul spinning dance.

Through the Venture of Life,
We bear with numerous  kinds of Vibe.
Some worth going among,
While some abhorred us along.
We meet many new persons,
Certain as an orison,
While several as illustrations of peril..
We witness many locales;
Few leave magical influence,
Others still haunt us.
And the Quest subsists with damage and  progress!!