Looking for letters. First names. Because writing is too sacred for sinful hands. A moments redemption cost more than a moments attention.
So he’s talking now. Because I’ve nothing to say, And silence won’t suffice.
Words themselves die on ice, and breathe fire. So I cover my mouth when I caugh.
Poets are prisoners. Their cells the wide walls of Babylon blank and deep. Their lives are prayers heard only inside dreams keep. And they find solace in the journey to and from sleep.
A world within a few cubic feet, and all but no release. Water for wellness. Quarters for brand coffee, and whiskey to pay the devils toll. Prideful and assumptive. Lost in control.
Story teller story teller, ain’t you got no role to play? Ain’t you got no hole to lay? I’ll take it! And he stole the day. Smoothe into the dirt, like a mole in clay.
Pay no mind, ‘less my pockets get to jingle a little bit, or find and cue the cumbersome to tickle your pickle dick. So funky sweet how the fabricated air skeets on ya face. It can be arranged, this kind of meet and greet. And the keyboard doesn’t even have buttons to delete. But when it’s all over, better hold on to that receipt.
One said love is for those that believe in it. Yet what of those in which love believes? Hunts and tracks down sure as it breathes. Steals without warning with its band of honorable thieves. Thrives in the lives of the trees and the green leaves. Needs not permission to move. Claims any and everyone it shall so chose. Even those with woes, and who owes of the blues. It catches them toos.
Corners will shrink to fit the ego of man.
His world will break as he’s allowed his spirit to be. His Earth will forsake him as he did her.
The MasterTeacher does not offer pardon for the vengeful. It is not available to the disobedient.
Hear yourself. Heal yourself through humility.
Yet time is an illusion, and my watch a prism.
Find me lose me. Sweep me keep me.
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