There on the tar
Lies paint with a purpose
We wander too far
Over the lines of hierarchy
Destined to face the consequences
Set by the ones whose eyes
Have experienced this all before.

Troubled souls state simply
That lines are meant to be crossed
They say this with impulse in limbs
With zero regard for the tarnished ending.
Souls of this demeanor
Will never wholy construct the finish
Solely being because of velocity.

You’ve state the line is blurred
The paint is worn or faded
Yet I still stand here listening.
This road has been shattered by youth
The less weathered assume the sun
Would’ve dried the paint by now.
Little do they know
The paint has always been wet.

It’s an hour close enough
To the number of no return
We contact through the space
As we once did before time

A cigarette before ***
Is not what the humble mind
Would immediately jump to
Only the outsiders would assume so

A cigarette before ***
Simply means a breath of air
Before all wind is stolen
By the intimacy of a conversation

A cigarette before ***
May role off your tongue
Tarnished by a society
We constantly run from

A cigarette before ***
When the *** is climatic conversation
And the cigarette is just the breath before
To prepare yourself for the race.

The caution sign is blue
With the font in cursive
And the edges smooth
You said it was okay though.

Blue is no red
With nothing near urgent
The universe sees all
You said it was okay though.

The words are the same
But with a hint of tranquility
That is poorly placed
Cost someone an injury

Leave the caution sign Red
The description wears it worse
Even though it saved some limbs
It never even thought of the heart.

You took a chance on them
Praying to anyone and everyone
While you wandered elsewhere.

You took the money and ran
But the currency wasn’t paper
It was knowledge nobody knew.

You took their hand and ran
Even though it familiarly slipped away
The symbol wouldn’t mean the end

This time.

I work in a field all day
To repair garden beds
And to grow new plants
With the destiny to be harvested
Whenever “our hearts desire”.

I work in a field all day
To repair a physical burden
And to grow new dreams
With the destiny to be reached
Whenever “our hearts are able”.

I work in a field all day
To mend a broken soul
And to grow new connections
With the destiny to be healed
Whenever “our hearts become stable”.

I work in a field all day
With the exception of a distraction
Then I look up to the clouds
And get lost in the wonder
Of when “I will find you”.

I work in a field all day
Yet find myself disoriented
Because my eyes have wandered
All over the sky
Making up for “lost time”.

I work in a field all day
Looking forward to heal
Hoping I’ll hear from you today
Knowing the sky is infinite
Just like “the space behind your eyes”.

I work in a field all day
I catch myself staring into the horizon
Remembering the time I saw your eyes
And how indefinite the ending was
Even though “the line seems so close”.

To feel your mind
Race with mine
Would be a blessing

In the morning
In the noon
In the night
In the moment.

To feel your heart
Against mine
Would be a gift

In the morning
In the noon
In the night
In the moment

To feel your dreams
Next to mine
Would be a present

In the morning
In the noon
In the night
In the moment

To feel your lips
Pressed to mine
Would be a privilege

In the morning
In the noon
In the night
In the moment

To feel your hand
Reach for mine
Would be an experience
I will handle with care
I will take with pride
I will thank with hope
I will hold with love

In the morning
In the noon
In the night
In my life.

White is the purest color
Yet is destined to be stained
By anyone of anybeing
With even the slightest
Sign of imperfections

The tarnish is inevitable
Why set a standard of impossibility
When anyone or anybeing
With even the slightest imperfections
Are patiently waiting next in line?