|
|
Monday, February 8, 2010
The thorns always cut my legs as I cross straight through the groves and pass the fences that are barbed. The sun is always bothersome and the night is always bright. The thirst always haunts me like a sickness as the breeze is sweet. The jagged rocks always give smooth cuts with perfect warmth from the flowing blood. It is tense and it burns with scorn and afraid of love I do belong, gentle steps. The tracks I imprint into the dirt are the last and not erased, the soul left red. It comes from my soul you would never know; it is something I have that no one else does. Whispers softly "please come close to me," your presence strikes me and I want to know. The wind flows right through my soul as it is on the outside and not inside. I don't believe in God; I don't have to believe because I know that there is one. Even the method that science uses is based on spontaneous creation. Even though we are dead and the dead live I am more awake then those who have seen the other side and come back. Not to make and to see those mistakes is the idea. I will do and not try because it is all easy to go and to follow.
Comments
(0)
« Home |
|
