Writing classics in my thought
Detailing like boats to an ardent sea
Striding, calculating, hating
Every thought on the projection screen!
Seeing so much, always being so much
Sometimes more than I want to be-
Ranting, ravaging like tail wind storms
Heaving, breathless, desperate
Drowning in their hurricanes...
Earth,
A thick, heavy rain that sweeps you away
Man, a cloud we can not even try to forsake, for his thickness and density,
All your light will take!-
Except your inside...
Your exempt from God.
I am Man!
Sad, scared, lost, lonely
The little girl,
On that boat.
I am
All sides,
every twine
In this reel of vine-
This veil of rope
Told
Like a story on a projection sea:
"The Storm & The Boat"...
My subconscious & it's tote...
The little girl,
Somehow,
The key,
In all her uncertainty, and lack of guarantee
Some fragile humanity of hope
Placed in her
By the God she attributes it to.
Desperate and scared,
Not another tare,
Not another scar to a sail
That will barely hold atop!
Not another crossed, tattered drowning
No foot abreath
No hand to reach,
And only nature's merciless wits...
And God.
And that's all ya got!
Tails says she drowns today
Heads says she lives at sea...
Two tales.
Two stories.
Two Gods.
And there's no other side!
Tails she drowns.
Heads,
She lives.
Tails she drowns..
Heads she lives...
Tales.
Heads.
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