It’s just a lot of people doing a lot of things.
Imagine we lived in one big house, with every leader,
Of every Country, State or Claim.
Imagine we lived under one roof with our ‘enemies’.
Then we would all get it.
Statements of hate would feel like someone shouting at a sibling.
God, if only.
‘In another life’ is my only faith.
She is amazing and beautiful,
But I can’t touch her.
The words of men are not mine,
I cannot speak them.
I walk with what is right and godly,
But I am not, I cannot sit with them.
Prostitutes are my friends and street alcoholics are my therapists.
Because they are the people who know what is, and what is not.
The fish never drowns.
I am sitting in my garden,
on a dining room chair.
Drinking an ice cold Mojito.
The air is fresh and I am warm inside,
The sky is perfect blue,
And an ocean of clouds orbit above.
I will meet with friends later under a costume of stars and drink with the night.
I take one glorious sip of my Emerald Juice,
And look upwards.
I see the moon peeking down,
with the earths shadow painted upon it like the the rings of Saturn.
This is one of those moments,
In which if you died it would seem like art.
Positioned by the gods themselves, a testament to your angelic prose.
But the Sun begins to set and the air assumes a cold stance.
And I am reminded, that though times like this may be poetic…
Nature deals only with force.
I watched the street lights come on and the horizon slipped away.
There was a sound of peace in the streets, and calm in the sky.
I breathed in and..I breathed out. I felt the air run through me.
I was alive, I drank my drink and felt it pour inside.
I felt the ground at my feet and I felt the grass around my ankles.
The sky was marble blue and the suns last reflection shone onto my skin.
This day was it’s own and it would never happen again.. time had taken it.
Time would take me too, one day, and in that moment..
myself and the sky, the ground and the grass, looked just the same.
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Watching the world dance by,
on the tracks, in a train.
Graffiti written on the steel outside.
Poetry of the concrete wasteland.
Where drunks confess each sin,
“your emotions are ripples in a sea” it reads,
To dream forever in another life and wander where only the brave one’s go.
The most memorable of moments, happiest days…
Are found in the ordinary.
It’s easier to drink than trust.
And cheaper to buy diamonds that rust.
Love the sinner over the sin.
Over and over he wins.
Cheap wine and melted chocolates.
Sambuca, rye and hot legs.
Summer suns rising with the winter.
There’s no better place than standing here with ya.