Angels in the outfield catch hue’s of men, intending to pitch curves to innocence..Batters unknowing of pitches hurled from Deep fingers of darkened ones now making the news to get behind and follow. Press-on Dear one, as they fear One’s…Children of wonder, playing in the fields of wars and rumors of wars, they opinion into making, with fake views called news.
welcomes of Shadows doesn’t cast as they do, but join the dark to become Destroyer, and keep the kids playing in the fields of wars, void of Deep ones on their missions to close the playground.
Force able winds, strong arm us all down to bow to their gail currents, even as they spite us. To stay bowed, or agreeing with whats being bellowed out and around. By manly windbags of political natures, keep fighting, agreeing, or following…These daze, rants and raves, that talking heads perform on camera.
to be, or knot to be, The I in the storm. Clutter and devastation all thrown about, making a lane as it twists and turns irrationally, it seems. Except in roots, grounded for life, until death does the body part…as life grows again, transformed, in one matter, or another. As Spark always rises, from within the sin of body, or without such matter that conceived it to be it’s master. Until it withers or rots away it’s conditionings, and become the consciousness that transforms wind…into generating power to stretch, bend, and break while you’re One with it, not fighting against its might.
In the wind, I become, to rampage about, making all surface dwellers run for shelter. From north-winded snow capped mountains, to blow through tranquil scenarios. Comfort Souly resides where comforted, no respector of a humans conditions. Breathe in and be airborne again, into the wind of transformations, if you choose to accept the bottom line…Being, of what runs through them, naturally. Pollen, and life source also breeze through, change, and rearrange life and death, on the surface of earth, and it’s heirs.