Water is the voice of the earth.
When she sings in my heart,
my muse tells me to sing a song,
to write a book, to shape my mind,
to clean out my closet, to feel out the darkness,
and make it brood like a monster.
I may not understand, where I am.
Where I am going,
but I feel like a rock. Like stone, my mind
is melting. Each bad thought falls asleep, like the pillls
I need to realize humanity.
And aren’t we all human,
back in a world that seems lost, of a world
falling back and forth,
i sing my song,
in four parts, for the broken hearts,
for the times that melt away like icecream cones.
I have never seen the world.
I have never walked outside
in a crowd, mindless.
Nothing really matters to me,
when a songbird sing,
her voice falls. and then I remind myself of what makes
sing, like a song that falls into my ear canals, and reaches for my soul. I feel like a song of science could pass the time.
If the world was one in my heart,
and not the breathing bullet. I would say poetic…
I would say poetic justice.
Poetic justice is the souls right to write, for some song bird to sing.
It is through my ears rasta listens through head phones.
And we all get along. And in my heart, as well as yours,
I think we could never die.
Our hands are entwined with the soul and body,
Bob, and all those who really tried to make life