a sudden deep where light retreats, a quiet sleep descends upon the spared
A thought expressed, that i have never seen
a fleeting snare of words ( the fuck is you) that shouldn't quite take hold, of the dreams
a story whispered lies an, ages old of anger masked, or just never of all this then
I pause, I look up to the no longer hear
These theories forever new, an will never know
the reasons that we are here.
The higher power, the unseen hand,
Which is it
What purpose guides this shifting sand?
We watch the clouds begin to mass,
a strange reflection in the glass of what we build, and what we break, this grain of
the paths we choose, the turns we take.
This strange compulsion to create,
A Mind of strife or for meaning from this state,
to follow voices, near and far, are you all there to hear who That tells us who and what we are.
Voice the Opinions or a determined judgemental
Never there to know but always something to say out of this rhythm moving through a narrative I didn't choose,
This is a path of the didn't s mean to pursue
But still, the pen begins to glide, it is written
the inner current didn't cannot hide.
We talk of self, of all we lack, of one another
turning The ones who claim to know the way,
and those who simply greet the day, blessed
Now they stand apart, or so they claim not not
The evilness of a different fuel within the flame.
And I, who listen to this sound, of the watchers in the grain less than certain, shifting ground of time
admit the pull, the need to strive
to join the endless, noisy tribe. Sum Clan
It feels like taking what is mine,never
I could cause in within all this is not
a selfish act, a bold design. Is and will always be
the script is set above,
a predetermined shape of struggle, fate or simple chance,
we step into the destined by abidance
We are not mirrors of the page,of the whispers that were bound upon a stage where every line is preordained, where freedom seems forever strained.
The breath we draw, the choice we make,
the silent promises we break,
these shape that molds the withering beings
The darkness lifts, the returns of comprehension
the lesson that the spirit learns is in the soul suddenly theirs new movement possibly an idea of thy own, this life of
Oh,mind never ever of the spontaneous observance of the earth
the places we refuse to go,
and those we have interest to venture and see
we want so little, yet so much from this belief
this bright spark, but will never be
before we settle in the dark.
This act of writing, raw and real,
is how the hidden words of you who of a being can be
or simply surface, clear and plain,that's over came the flesh and soul
through sunshine or through falling rain.
Another beautifully day
This is the truth we strive to find,
beyond the noise within the mind.
1779