12910433_179668832420366_672481879_nUpstart the heart. Live and learn. Douse the fuel. Yearn and burn.

Sacred allegiance to fulfill what must. Head in hands and devoted to trust.

Invite torment and spell is undone. Sometimes weight feels as a ton.

Mysteries of dreams and seeking me out! Mother or lover, as a pain filled shout.

Dancing in the den and revealed is my within. Whether lion, scarecrow or lonely man of tin.

Beautiful orchestration and demonstration…is the love that overcame me. Tormentive revelation, seasons of rotation is the web in which I weave.

Pride is loud, I know. From bowels of understanding yet not demanding is a hand to hold. A feather in the wind to travel where ever the wind may blow.

Before now, I have worked the plow. Serving pigs and idols that they bow.

As others, from sisters to brothers. Clueless renegades from skittles of colors.

Throwing stones and bones to somehow distract my keen eye as I sip my tea. Clues come and go, the end I know…filling this relic with most glee.

Why revel in madness of the one you can not control? Seeking dynamic purpose and genetics from pole to pole.

Telling the truth, yet art forgetful still. Beyond the mill and nations sought to kill.

In dreams, stitching tapestry as a work of art. Yet bleeding and pleading is my beating heart.

Waiting on signs that may point my way. Only one lover I know, yet will she stay?

In spite of cynics and critics. All the same to me. Kicking a single stone or cutting down my tree.

At night, I pour of passion of deep delight. At day, a character of play of emotional might.

Giving clues to fools, as I shout the glass. Yet men desire earnestly to repeat the past.

Obviously pushed in a corner. Wants no part of me. Is not red the color that we all bleed?

I am down, I know. Begging love at the door. A mere man, with tears that cover the floor.

Covertly covered, yet eyes strain and do not lie. Honoring the heart given and moment to fly.

Life is made, whether house on hill or den of thieves. Take ones’ words he loves, to see him bleed.

My yin to my yang. Believe me, I do know pain. If love was taken away, what will remain?

Shake the bottle until the top will pop. From beast of brutality or friendly cop.

Deceiving appearance, or truth plainly seen? Scrubbing me upon a washboard, till I am clean.

Different paths to take, maybe. Yet same conclusion. No matter the math or cycles of delusion.

Love adapts like roaches, only to survive. Or protecting queen bee and honey hive.

Forms of nature and order of Holy Heaven. She spoke “no more”, that lovely raven.


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