Knows no bounds
In the sky
And fall to kiss the ground
When I cry
I open up
My head to the outside
In the end
All that you fret
Will find a way to die
When it’s over
Look at where we are
We could blend
Into the lamp
Or drift into the stars
All we have
Is a big round path
Until we draw a line
The murky gray
And all that’s left is time
-The following is my continuation of the song Lather by Jefferson Airplane-
Lather turned 75 today
His toys now were adding machines
The colors surrounding him never stood out
And at night, he could no longer dream
In his mother’s will, he was left with a sum
That he spent on the driest of books
And a wardrobe that settled him into the crowd
For he grew up to care how he looked
But lather still walks on the beach now and then
To recall how it all fell apart
For everyday, he found his pocket still full
Though something had slipped from his heart
He waited for something to jump back inside
And possess him to sing through his nose
But a voice deep inside called him crazy again
I guess that’s how growing up goes……..
No army, no sunrise
No buzzing, no crashing
No hatred, no passion
No racket, no clutter
No screeching, no singing
No music, no footsteps
No honking, no burning
No losing, no finding
No dying, no climbling
No falling, no calling
No barking, no scratching
No biting, no tearing
No bleeding, no screaming
No laughing, no bleeding
No breeding, no eating
No shivers, no nothing
And maybe now I can fall asleep
Splits and solves
And leaves behind no pain
Dear, wake up.
I feel cold and scared.
Could you check to see
if my heart’s still there?
My pulse feels dry,
if that makes sense,
and every thought I have
You’re telling me
to get some rest,
but something’s off
in our lovely nest.
It’s not you,
but it isn’t me.
It’s what’s between us
Now it’s clear,
and I could sleep,
but there’s still something
While we sleep,
we drift apart
and soon forget
each other’s heart.
We drift through life
like hopeless feathers.
It’s time we start to
aim”, us humans tend to
think from seeing part of what is
A dog escaped his yard
and ran across
into a pond.
That dog drowned, but
not to death,
just halfway there-
left resting breathless
in a mess of feeling,
and nothing less.
All around his, thoughts, ideas, and
raw emotions swam around
to sink into each other soundly.
All that was would flow and wait
until a wave came by
to plunge a mass of consciousness
in the depths
of a great unknown.
At the other side,
he washed onto the shore
of a human mind
and made himself a home
inside a cave that echoed endlessly.
Truth be told, inside the cave,
his spirit rested.
Thus his life had slipped
yet the spirit still remained.
His home beyond the grave
became a thought inside
that human mind;
a ray of hope that never fades
reflected from a friendship
that could never die away.
Thus we find that,
a distant memory,
every creature has its calling.
There’s always a home, though it’s falling apart
There’s always a pulse if there’s only one heart
And we can stay warm off of only one spark
And if that blows out, we’ll adapt to the dark.
Though nothing is helping, the hurt’s in the past
And we’ll recreate all the good that can’t last
If it takes all we have, which is never that much
But that’s the amount that works perfect for us
Everything changes and everyone dies
Whether they’ve found their purpose of simply survived
So what do we live for? I’ll give you a hint
It’s boundlessly better than where we have been
And I’m still not sure what that purpose is
Nights that display every star in full
deserve the attention of those not exhausted
by life’s daily hassles and silent frustrations
that drain them so tragically long before dusk.
Evenings of beauty emit a smooth taste
that fills a sound mind with the memories of daydreams
played out in real life back in sweet youthful years
to relax those still driven by deep wanderlust.
Peace is awakened in each muscle fiber,
dissolving the storm clouds of meaningless burden
that stresses the soul in a world without boundaries
as a thick, fading fog slips into the sky.
A breeze sweeps the trees while they dance to the rhythm
of the joy now released to roam free through the streets
that hold all the wandering souls nearly broken
through turbulence made from just asking, “Why?”
The dreamers save the world
from beneath the skin
those souls who invite you
to lunch in the clouds,
viewing all the world
in a moment of leisure.
They are, in truth,
the walking extremes
that stretch what is real
until reality readjusts.
Though plausibility seems scarce,
we find our arms outstretched
towards what we have been shown
but cannot yet reach.
These dreamers never paint a path,
but rather one more corner
that sits and dares us
to seek what’s around it.