To be the sun.
To scream bloody murder
And mean it in a good way,
To wake up and go to bed so consistently
Time pieces become obsolete
And there are no excuses anymore.
Oh, there are bad days
When fog rolls in,
Or random, insignificant civilizations
Decide to proclaim war
Upon their own protective shells –
An eco-systemic, all chemicals in
Kind of war that pins natural resources
And technology
Against simple biology and physics.
There are bad days when children of the sun
Who suckle auras of its very beams
Become stifled and trampled
Beneath plastic rubbish and footware
In an unmercifully ignorant act.
But then again, there are the good times
Which ignite passion,
A brilliance so glorious
Rapid transformations become
Supernatural and unprecedented.
Good times that feed millions of
Conscious and unconscious
Biological matter the very substance
They require to exist.
When these delicate rays are so respected
And in balance that they provide
Sweet little Gaia an answer.
Oh, to be the sun.
Tag: transformation
Squinting (day 1195)
I lifted my eyes and squinted at the distance
Speculating on a mirage, intending to drift.
[Lost words have a tendency to echo
When moments find thee alone, lonely.]
I kick the dust. I follow an eagle trace a long line
About my imagination and wave at it motionless.
This is my breakout. This is my manhood.
I am the angel that washed out to Washington.
[I remember there was an arm that touched.
I looked and a few moments passed before I came to.]
Just like my whirlwind that had brought me to here
I sheltered the locals as I spread my arms and screamed like hell.
To arrows and sparks and roaring engines
Lifting an essence, an indescribable valor.
To sky that lifts my dream and spins my fear,
Pushing endless possibility into the cuff of my presence.
Into a distance that dances with a wavering expression,
Upon a transformation defined by these.