Friday, April 3, 2009

The Loud Sound that Love makes 4/2/09 1:10 PM

The rippling flag, parallel to the ocean surface.
Evenly exchanges its somber relation with the wind.
A channeling challenging alliance of aligning.
Only challenge a mile high rock formation.
Made of bits and pieces of mortar.
Oil shapes with rainbow hues.
Plymouth Indiana,
Mushroom usage mixed with a caffeinated beverage.
Very different perspective then one may assume.
At least a lot has changed in the past few years.
A few to you might mean two, but a few to me might be three.
Such a silly difference in the dynamics of a variable.
Young manic man pacing from window to wall.
From door to floor.
Cleaning in a hypnotic ritual, I wish you well.
You wished upon a falling star.
Arms relaxed words changing form in hyper speed.
Light bounces of the lip stick on the bottom of your upper lip.
A sure fire starter in a crowd of wild brush.
The rush of charging forward.
Awaiting patiently at the door step.
Silhouettes speaking in tongue with your shadow.
Angels and ghost sharing their halos.
Lunch from a basket hand made from branches.
Brave heart hear me loud.
Allow the world to slow down.
Your safe now.
Saved by the holy ground you’ve touched down.
A home run in your home town on home coming night.
The natural instinct to turn off the lights,
Navigate with the highs on before taking flight.
Getting lost in the moment for the sacrifice of focus.
Summer sun sets savory flavors of emotional progress.
Fear of breaking the code of how it is spouse to be.
Morally only giving your self what is formed.
The land for the foundation must first be found.
When explained as having outside of what is inside you.
As if you can ever truly own anything,
Burn to dust evaporate in to space.
The essence of the mass will forever hold space.
A ton of talented diminutive skills.
One fiber at a time, one strand of connection.
The next day will be full of love.
Often taken for granted left out in the sun to dry.
Bask in the illuminated sound of love.
Marvel at the comedic melody of your memory.
A small park full of morel mushrooms.
A brick chimney covered in moss and dragon lilies.
Children filling there bellies with gifts from there parents.
A single parent, no parents more then two parents.
A pair of parents paying attention to what’s apparent.
Obvious ornaments hanging from the tree.
Counted the measures between every beat.
Came up with a conclusion to allow the intuitive to speak.
Sparkling silver spoons with your initials carved on the front.
The acronym for you to see every time you’d eat.
Reading your name as a mantra, charcoal covered hands.
Comparing your self with your neighbor.
In about 8 months you can become a grown up.
A spring flower bending toward the sun.
Eyes like an owl,
The back drop is the sound of rushing water,
Splashing up against adjacent rocks.
Like arteries along the earths arm.
Moving closer toward the bridge,
Stepping forward on course with father time.
A father figure found through rhyme.
A riddle if you can spare the dime.

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