is not the sole ingredient to being likable.
~I never ask rhetorical questions. Do you?~
for my enemies were killing me.
does not mean you can disregard
You know not that it is the devil until you set it free
they never disappoint me.
Maybe get the healthy version, reduced sodium double-salted sugar-butter.
does not mean they are a visionary.
. . . however being lucky is not the simple matter of having something someone else wants
because you will eventually loose all boundaries.
I just made a fair assessment of your personality.
in the desert, beyond sunset, I construct a silver boat by my heart with the blood that runs through it
for you, this I have made; though now not used, forever beside you
the sand looms in large dunes, the sun beats upon all, relentless in it's persuit of darkness
but you say "where are we?" as a whisper in my ear
you say "what are we" as a flicker in my eye
you say "who are we" as a pulse in my mind
you say "why are we" as a truth in my heart
It is the heart that stays beside the silver boat, for it knew the future
as you lay in the desert, alone, exhausted from heat, you look beside you and see nothing
but the silver boat is there, and it sees you
with its shining bow, you know
It cradles you in its protection of what is to come, denying the sun its prize
denying the world of revenge for us having been in it.
While the desert attempts its consumption, I stand forever away
knowing your pain, knowing your need
Then my heart pulls the strings to my mind
and my mind pulls back with it's own intent
The tension makes something small appear at the corner of my eye
At first they are conservative, and I try to resist
but the heart knows better.
The heart pulls the strings ever harder until the tear becomes a drop,
so heavy with its own tension that it falls to the ground, to the sand, to the desert.
So small at first, until all resistance is gone, to the point where it is clear I must trust my heart.
Then the tears become larger, falling ever faster at my feet.
I look down to find a puddle forming, then an oasis; but it does not stop.
The river flows from my eyes, and every tear is for you
until it stops.
But the desert is now an ocean, turned by the unstoppable force known as the heart.
And now you float.
On your silver boat,
made by my heart,
straight back to me.
When sunset glitters
in an eye across a soul,
ocean's waves impart a song to see.
And for every wave that touches the shore,
and for every grain that became sand,
and for every light's magic,
we see their music.
Adjacent to an aroma of the flowers
are the charismatic flavors of a dance
so the taste of life imbues our perceptions
and water falls like feathers
that silently crash upon us.
A quickening breath spent catching dreams,
not realizing we were awake,
running from monsters that we found to be teddy bears
because we are now the dream's master.
We know now that it was never a dream,
it was real all along.
To fly in a dream is easy.
not in our minds,
not in our daydreams,
but in our *real* lives,
it was impossible to know it was not a dream,
for we are still flying . . .
do not be burned so you never see beauty again.
you may lose count of days gone by.