When have i ever felt a life...or alive?
Only when I cry.
Because the sensation of tears running down your face
remind you of how it's possible to dwell on one thing at a time.
One thing so real
that it connects you with the one time a Life was breathed into your lungs.
My Mind is constantly wandering
jumping on trains and planes, to only see plains of names and faces,
i play name games in places, guesssing the names to every face is....
an unconsious effort to make a connection to something you know of
to someone you know nothing about.
The eyes are the windows to souls of man.
When was the last time you looked through a window, and only saw one thing?
I see rainbows
yellow takes me to orange
orange takes me to red
red takes me to purple
and purple takes me to blue.
Blueish windows with shades of grey
make me wonder if everything isn't exact....
between the lines of reality, is still reality.
what's not seen doesn't have to be heard.
What's not heard can be felt.
The stroke of a paint brush from a blind man, isn't corrupted.
It is pure.
It is what the heart feels as perfect
without being disturbed by false ideals of perfection.
The stroke of a finger, the souls paintbrush
Caresses a canvas protected by flesh, and the lines of a palm.
Souls connect as every picture painted has one deliberate message.
A message to be dwelled on,
with meaning of
nothing more
or nothing less
than what it is.
Just like the tears of a child,
so happy to feel the worlds energy for the first time, everything is as simple as it is meant to be.
Complexities are nothing but....
beauty,
balance, and
nature taken out of context.
I control my tears by rationalizing beauty i havn't been able to comprhend since the day I was born.
Beauty someone only comprehends when something is so powerful,
it forces them to cry.
Beauty that can only be understood when the electricity of a simple touch lights the room even when your eyes are closed.
And even the light being vastly greater than that of the sun,
it's the touch that forces the tear for understanding beauty in knowing nothing but the exact moment.
The light is a truism, known, but not thought of.
A by product of the touch that inspires tears.
I used to want to die the death of a martyr.
I think now,
i would rather die crying.
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