Keen amoungst the lore lays symbols laden with, inmeshed.
The lines collasece,
they weave and dress,
and form assembles
we attest.
Now best, we seek, through learning eyes, the ever changing shape's surprise,
to thrive and die,
the feast of pies,
the ripe enchanted taste of fries.
Sweet potato, no doubt.
Least you a lout...
And the list goes on, endlessly.
The step and pop of rhythm's grace, astounding
And chase, the spin, the grip, release..
The shapes and sounds abound with fate.
And all the while our times compress.
the heart beat sets the pace in chest.
the breath goes on without our mind.
Leaving behind...
Leaving behind...
That once-born dream.
The sun explodes...
what but love could derive a meaning from that event?
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