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Darkest Brushes

Bal­ance.
Hap­pi­ness.
Com­pas­sion.
The amethyst.

11.29.13

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Scream­ing all the pas­sion out.
Liv­ing lonely in a crowd.
Chew­ing on com­pas­sion strings.
Tired jaws and melt­ing wings.
Stand­ing on the dusty edge the road behind it twists and bends a sin­gle cloud hangs over­head drop­ping rain in scat­tered brains.
Seep­ing through to stir the sys­tem.
Never win­ning. Always lis­ten­ing.
Like walk­ing on an esca­la­tor.
Stand­ing clue­less thought con­veyor.
Drift­ing through with blinded eyes no smile mind is preach­ing lies feel­ing noth­ing chest con­cave bro­ken breath­ing weep­ing waves.
Some­times you just cant stop the rain.
Only grab a brush and paint the pain.

11.23.13

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Inter wrists of paci­fists.
Last in last­ing answers fit.
Land in land­ing plan­ning wits.
That strike the sun with angry fists.
Sam for some­thing sam in pants.
Stand for noth­ing. Only this.
That in which the love exists.

11.17.13

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The place I lived.
Amaz­ing times.
The kind that make you lose your mind.
Reprise edi­tion unre­fined.
Exist­ing only by design.
But out­side that we house afflic­tion.
Walk­ing eyes.
At times addic­tion.
Inspired by the ner­vous sys­tem.
All that we are.
Is our ambi­tion.
To leave a foot­print with conviction.

11.15.13

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Its beau­ti­ful.
How we can make eachother feel ner­vous.
And make eachother feel purpose.

10.24.13

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No sad­ness.
Con­nec­tions they live and con­tinue to give.
So mad­ness.
Is seen by the eye who beholds it.
Mold­ing the new into old.
Oh so slowly.
The speed is between the fore­seen and belief.
Expec­ta­tions embrac­ing the evil in feet.
Walk­ing is dream­ing and stagnant’s a thief.
Find­ing that rea­son.
Is all you will need.

10.9.13

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The only thing is love.
Our shoes wear strings to hold us in tight.
Falling moments ignited by light.
So strange that as crea­tures.
We walk with a fea­ture.
For short­ness of breath.
While breath­ing is sweeter.

10.9.13

-

Into the blue.
The paint rid­ing brushes.
Erupt­ing in touch­ing our brains to our stom­achs in flux inter­rup­tions and hun­gri­ness func­tions.
Absorb­ing dis­trac­tion attract­ing reac­tion the sound sat­is­fac­tion relaxes the action.
A frac­tion of time and a head lost in lines from the poet divine and her beau­ti­ful mind.

10.9.13

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Theres a word he said that made me feel.
The chance to make them feel was real.
The col­ors speak the world we see.
You give we give we live for free.

10.9.13

-

So many things the great­est gifts the things that make our weav­ing twist the moves that make us not resist the urge to make our dreams exist.
So many thoughts.
The mon­eys lost.
We sold less than the stock we bought.
We didnt cover what it costs.
To live to set your feel­ings off.

10.8.13

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Get ready in steady with lev­ees that shake.
Expect­ing the lev­ees get heavy and break.
Steady.
Inter­est­ing.
Ahead of the race.
Swim­ming through clouds with incred­i­ble pace.
Wear­ing a cape we imag­ine our call­ing.
Fly­ing with wax til the sun wishes falling.

10.7.13

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Ill­ness is the great­est gift.
The kind that makes your eye­lids lift.
The kind that lets your liv­ing shift.
Makes you grate­ful you’ve been sick.

Med­ica­tion fac­ing patience.
Patients wait main­tain­ing cadence.
Favorite feel­ing combinations.

Ill­ness is the great­est nerve.
The kind attached to every word.
The kind of ill that smiles serve.
For­ever changed in every curve.

10.7.13

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Shenani­gans.
A reflec­tion of days.
With inspec­tion they say,
the impos­si­ble may.
Just rea­son­ably doubt any moves that we’ve made.
The life and times is the truth that we save.
Unbreak­able bro­ken alive on the waves.
Awaken with motives the vibe is insane.
Pro­vid­ing the sun when the worlds dream­ing rain.

10.6.13

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Horns and danc­ing instantly.
Mov­ing door the sym­phony.
Wings on wally.
Pas­sion bleeds.
Ela­tion chas­ing gain­ing speed.
Make me laugh its what I need.
On the laugh­ter.
Jesters feed.

Hun­gry always faster teeth.

Wrap­ping love around your feet.

9.30.13

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Since the moment is gone.

The cho­rus fell.

And although the road ends itself.

We will always know just how it felt.

9.30.13

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Walk­ing art the peo­ple walk.
Hearts arrive with hearts that talk.
Rub­ber romance and sooth­ing thoughts.

Break­ing free in dif­fer­ent pat­terns cor­dially with dream­ing spasms wak­ing up cre­ation atoms.

We all need to breathe in our own weather.
This alone binds us together.
Love is lungs our minds are feathers.

9.30.13

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Alive are many thought­less words that make the brain think its absurd and fur­ther­more the pens a verb awake with means to move the nerves.

Escap­ing self comes back around to weave through ears with­out a sound cause often sim­ply lift­ing crowds is how we keep our dreams around.

The reach­ing is our res­pi­ra­tion.
Brain relies on inno­va­tion.
Every words a procla­ma­tion.
We will never quit creation.

9.30.13

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Only love.
Impos­si­ble to hate.
Only love.
The archer is erased.

9.16.13

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The dusty road the man he walked.
Until he found a river to cross.
He found the one to build his bridge.
And now he knows the bridge exists.
The river under flows with magic.
The river under flows so tragic.
Pas­sion wild two reflec­tions.
Past the mild intro­spec­tion.
Once the toll is paid to cross.
Walk­ers are together lost.
Even when the road seems sense­less.
Every steps a smile relent­less.
The river flows inside the veins.
Leav­ing all for­ever changed.
The grand emo­tions start a war.
Though at the end the love endures.
The grand emo­tions spin within.
The walk­ers walk til spin­ning gives,
Them shoes to cross their bridge again.

9.13.13

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Vision makes friends with ears sometimes when color drips into the eyes and rip through nerves at every turn the body learns to love observe.  
Her footsteps sing the chorus falls.
The instrument is in her walk.

8.28.13

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Free­dom and love in vision.
No dif­fer­ence.
Feath­ers in flight like a head dress of sight.
Native prophecy.
Cre­ative feroc­ity.
Leos and Can­cers just look­ing for answers.
Grand intro­spec­tion.
The world is a question.

8.27.13

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Lyri­cal hugs and women in love.
With eachother and us.
The spir­i­tual tug.
Fear is undone in the branches above.
Tan­gled like brains and roots made of doves.
Flight of the breath­ing.
Con­fu­sion.
The feel­ing.
Under­stand­ing is where the heroes are kneeling.

8.26.13

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Vis­i­ble peaks and dreams with­out sleep.
The only ful­fill­ment is tak­ing the leap.

8.25.13

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