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The Freedom Pages

 

Free­dom feel­ers.
Stomp­ing seems to weave their dreams.
Motion molded path­way scenes.
Echoed jour­neys, rum­ble, yearn­ing.
Arrivals thump, wail, jump.
Desires burn­ing.
Bright­ness slides.
Widen­ing our hun­gry eyes.
Rea­son why.
Our dreams arise.
We are alive.
Alive we ride.

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Fly­way magic.
High­way tragic.
Trav­el­ing, leav­ing.
End­less sta­tic.
Fight for rhythm.
Fight for breath.
Fight for life
and fight for death.
Another one lost.
Another one lead.
To believe whats real
is in their head.
The minds a jester.
Its hard to find.
A rea­son why.
It blinds our eyes.
End­less thoughts
and ruth­less patience.
Fak­ing brains
and plane rela­tions.
Pages read.
Faces dread.
The jour­ney wings
they wore instead.
Leave me breath­less.
Nece­sito res­pi­ra­tion.
My lovely gift.
The magic nation.

12.23.09

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Like a hur­ri­cane.
They over­take me.
Aspara­gus eyes
with dreamy still­ness.
A com­plex dis­guise
for whats inside.
The won­der ensues.
The end­less devel­op­ment.
The chase and chase
we’re for­ever enveloped in.
Con­scious mind
and fleet­ing heart.
A struc­ture marked
with facial art.
I won­der if I
passed any­where near.
The space between
her weary ears.

12.23.09

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The leav­ing the run­ning.
The weav­ing the duck­ing.
In need of a rea­son to leave.
So it seems.
But how when the scenes so serene and a dream.
How to escape when the want turns to need and we see and believe with each breath that we breathe.

2.2.10

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1 makes you larger.
1 makes you small.
Some make you stum­ble.
Some make you fall.
Rea­son for lov­ing.
Rea­son for hate.
It seems you need noth­ing.
It seems you need eight.
You wait just to be.
You wait just in case.
Your face gets to see,
The every­thing place.

2.2.10

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Dreams of life
and life through dreams.
Which is which or what it seems.
Seams to bust by what it means.
Drib­ble spit and drib­ble burst.
Hurts to stroke the deep­est nerves.
Under­stand the mak­ing of.
Under­stand­ing tak­ing love
Rep­ri­mand­ing ancient trust
Drib­ble in and drib­ble out.
Hopes to sun­sug­gate the clouds
Hopes to make a brain­ful proud.
Even though a Dream it is.
A feel­ing means a love within.
A love for more a love for It.
A love for that which none permits.

9.15.09

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Gib­ber­ish page with numer­ous eggs. Hatch­ing to make a rea­son to save. A rea­son to ride with the gears that are raised. In a brain that cre­ates to release all its waves. In a place that is full. In a place that cant wait. To wan­der through days when we’re finally awake. Dri­ving for aches and find­ing the wild. Striv­ing for times that I had as a child. Rid­ing the train and fly­ing through miles. Hid­ing from stuck and find­ing sweet smiles. The head lays down. The mind wakes up. The nerve hands dive. The nerve hands duck. Some­times strange and some­times crude. Some­times leav­ing life depressed. Some­times life is left at rest. Even though it trav­els swiftly. Gifts are also given quickly. Life must go on. We all must progress. When all that we know. Is that life surely ends.

9.15.09

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Never want to hear the clock.
Never want to lose my socks.
Always want to dive and swim.
Always want the will to live.
Never want to drive too fast.
Never will for­get my past.
Always want a per­son who.
Will grab a knee and tie my shoe.

Never want to close my box.
Never want to be hit with rocks.
Always want to laugh and sing.
Always want a dream within.
Never want a breath to be last.
Never will unless Im asked.
Always want a per­son who.
Will let me grab their laces too.

2.9.10

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I wish my dreams were prophe­cies.
Ride piano ride.
Stomp the twin­kling gulf­side the­atre.
Filled with rea­son.
Filled with feel­ing.
Come up for air.
Your brain is depressed.
Nerves are obsessed.
They in vite dis­tress.
Feel the rhythm.
Let it be.
Embrace the trees.
Let nature breathe.
I wish my dreams were prophe­cies.
I wish the breeze could set me free.

1.9.09

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So many melodies to revive the jour­neys. What where and when. Most impor­tantly. How it felt. Beauty sur­rounds. It is almost too much to han­dle. I find myself frozen in awe at the utter per­fec­tion of the most inno­cent per­for­mances of nature. A sym­phony com­posed by the jour­ney from dawn to dawn. A cycle of ever chang­ing life. Bewil­der­ment. The seam­stress weaves her lovely threads. Light meant for enlightenment.

10.21.09

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Rain in the some­times.
Run wild with fun lines.
All to set the mind at ease and lunge above the sun­rise.
Its fun to be in writ­ing class.
Within myself, a pass with­out.
A jour­ney that lasts, with­out a route.
It seems to me. I used to feed.
On dreams and beams from sunny scenes.
Rea­son being, every­thing.
Just a team, of help­less beasts, look­ing for supreme belief.

2.26.10

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Mean­ing legion ripped in regions.
Need­less fiends are thiev­ing reason.

Ten cuidado.

1.11.10

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Rock rhymes.
The top grinds.
The top works til words con­vert.
For­mu­lat­ing lines to inscribe the times.
An imprint here. An imprint there.
A perma nence the future wears.
Dreams go in and dreams go out.
In between they scream and shout.
Whats a man to do with­out,
a way to push them out his mouth?
Whats a man to do but leave,
a dream for you to dream about?

2.26.10

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Eyes to rainy skies.
Skies of rain in eyes.
Rea­son being beings in griev­ing.
Seems they need a breath­ing reason.

1.8.09

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Clear for land­ing,
bal­loons and Candy,
cir­cled bands of
danc­ing lands­men.
Aim­ing, stand­ing,
per­fume and brandy.
Cir­cled hand in hand
and laugh­ing.
Chant­ing nations,
wait­ing patient.
Another day,
of celebration.

1.8.09

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Sun­rise cliffs are thiev­ing heat.
Dan­gling light with ground to meet.
Sandy toes and tastes so sweet.
A mil­lion thoughts con­ceived by grief.
A mil­lion feel­ings I am feel­ing steal­ing.
The gears that wheel from eye­lid peel­ing.
The road I chose and dare to see.
Cre­ation flow. Therapy.

4.8.10

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Please believe.
In what you need.
To move your brain.
And help you breathe.
We all need.
A way to see.
A way to change.
A way to dream.
Just to be.
Human beings.
We can explain.
Please believe.

2.26.11

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The sky is pur­ple.
The clouds are blue.
1 and 1 and 1 is 2.
Walk­ing hands.
Greet­ing feet.
Hot black snow and sun­shine sleet.
Tree roots hang.
Walk­ers fly.
Hap­pi­ness the alibi.
Float­ing shores.
Mas­saged by pink.
Free to find and free to think.
Easy to love.
So easy to find.
The world within the sleep­ing mind.

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The breath­ing pace,
that moves his waist.
Is even for the evening race.
Sun­set hills,
with use­ful breaks.
That change to make his brain cre­ate.
His shoes illus­trate,
pur­suit, embrace.
Now can make the future late.

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Curi­ous mind thre­wout last night.
Eye jump sights in mid­knight flight.
Carpit rid­ers must look down.
Para dice. For chance. For­ground.
Bound for non­cents dri­ven west.
Over wan­dring moun­tain crests.
Tran­quil movem­ints jux­ta­posed.
Minds are dreams if i’s are closed.

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A thiev­ing free­dom rea­son is it seems we all just need it.

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