Yet, the message has been heard from afar, telling the story of
the tired rhythms falling out and down around unequaled fantasies.
Begging to be understood the only way fathomed by gathering mediums
of talent and blending them as one.
Forsaken ideas, never being spoken aloud, yet the whisperings can
be heard the other side of heaven, by angels guarding music of a
lifetime.
Soaring above, looking down, enjoying everything I see and feel in sight.Loving the gentleness of God’s beautiful nature in His artistic landscapes, made to perfection, a faithful expression of who He is.
Eyes resting quietly, gently on birds of paradise as thisjourney takes me ever closer to Tempe, Arizona.Traffic steadily building itself into snarls, blocking allroads and coming to a halt in the middle of a Friday morningrush hour.
satisfying me with sweetsmelling melodies,gathering ideas in my brain.Soulfully exciting me inside.Carrying a lot of rhythm,letting it ease itself outin writing.
Contemptuous living, having elements akin to rhythmic essences, taking always, the best of everything life has to offer, and given freely, just because it is available.Sincerely hoping for an eternal rest some day.
Covering up self with coverlets of past suicide, leaving earth to it’s own demise as I am lifted heavenward towards my future.
Searching halls for reminders of myself in etchings of the past.Stringing along images, pasting them on corridors of eternal sincerity.While they continue to fall off and get stepped on by tomorrow’s insistence.
