fatherfig

which has yet to grow my happiness or my love of letting things go

the abyss beckons open caverns reach softly im brushed by shadows motes of light hold me suspended feet paused mid-air i laugh 'beam me up'

im not one who needs deluxe mattresses for sleep satisfied by all forms in which sleep comes i am happy with aged stained old matts

i keep thinking it's november my brain is locked in the months splendor november wasnt even that great why am i stuck in a month i may hate

As I shred away "Jörmungandr" I called out "I do not blame you."

to find the right tomb twisting crawling upwards vine tendrils ensnare me

chickens gown all stuck as it tries traipsing forward straps tear - now dances

sung without a sound still windchimes beneath oak trees humming wings stir leaves

when they should be gone flowers remerge into sunlight unfettered ----- just biding their time until growth when they will woo incomparable

musty ends and bliss the towers have turned to trees metals dust and breeze

smells, dust muted air the buildings fell long ago trees are now taller

as forever sighs in my ears softly wishing me eternities

rain is crying out i hear it on the tin roof it says carry on

and i can't forget how you smiled when i last saw your rays, life giver

the power is yours to plant a sunflower in someone's heart, next morn'