Cooled off to take a sip; two.
Greedily waking up; fading
of the whole cup - butterflies,
trees, flowers; drips touching
the final vestiges of Antigua.
Fear ascended into the canopy,
slid along the line; work gloves,
gripping. Incomplete instructions,
lack of common sense, slowed
me down, with my feet off
the ground. Grounds remind me,
in this creamy, courage cup
to not give up, keep going with
support. I had to leap, to land
but otherwise I had support.
She, too, had courage, sans
my tears, my heart-pounding,
insane fear of flying; her words fly;
she’s shorter than I. She lands
on her feet. I’m behind. My friend -
a curious word; we shared a towel,
kissed dolphins; I hit her in the head
with a pingpong paddle (playing
doubles). Too close, these icons
of finance (we sailed upon a -ship
with). Friendship ebbs and flows.
You sea, you don’t need to pay.
Breach causes a realization. Suck-
cession of time and space, happy
place, but I soak in the memories
of once upon a time. Sipping,
sliding, incomplete instructions,
gliding, gladdened by adventure;
and even the brevity of affection.
WE ARE ONE
We march towards beckoning stars
tears, sweat, scars across bars
heralding heroes gone not forgotten
paving ways with courageous bones
we are One Love sown
Fortune, fame, pearls are not
ingredients in stewed freedom pots
Truth beckons a timbre away
chortling cherub cheer holding sway
cession chains fall heavy everyday
Open dark windows of shame
tigers tranquil all thunder tamed
winds of change celluloid clear
government gaffs once held dear
we are One harmonic humanity
His participation won't be needed
But he has this fact not heeded:
To their church his father's lands ceded
And church-building time had them weeded.
It is in real mystery shrouded;
When the issue was raised halls crowded.
"Here men have ascended God's Heaven,
One with six plots he soon made seven
Joel with ten he dragged to eleven,
And this buffoon prefers their cession,
"Happy he's heading church procession."
For "Chief" James had hoped participation,
His picking an anticipation
Building towards preoccupation...
Freedom from myself is what im looking for. This unrealistic life brings me nothing but pain.
Im afraid of myself wanting it just to end this cession of left or right. To be or not to be.
Looking for a finger hole of hope to many cracks that are trying to be plastered and painted.
Mold grows among these crack, my mind filthy thoughts of death, sadness, hopelessness
never to be whole. Broken like a favorite toy you keep for the memories of what it means
to you.
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