So this must be what it feels like when a flower blooms --
The simultaneous collision of a thousand heart-shaped moons.
Blurring the division between dream and reality
-- in a single daydream, spent eternity.
A Glance:
She ripped away the heavily-weighted nets of hate which instantaneously caused everybody to gently float upward
to the skies in a simultaneous dream of lingering euphoria.
She finally showed us how to love;
and her name was music.
Contemplating upon the complexity of a moment, a heavy thunder
hammers upon the fragile strings of poets and philosophers alike.
It leaves a resonating echo in the chambers of
both the heart and of the mind -- repeated invariably
across a landscape of fluctuating mediums.
They simultaneously sing the archaic elegies of yesteryear
and the pseudo-colloquialisms of our current endeavor.
The result is a blur of possibility that lies hidden
within the haunting chords of an unknown song.
Wandering the cusp of existence; where the world is
freshly planted in the soft damp soil of infancy
we are able to experience things again for the first time.
The soul is reborn and the origami dreams of the heart
take flight in a blizzard of rare snowflakes that have been
forged in the icy-blue jet-streams of mysticism.
Romanticized symbols dance inexplicably about my being,
unknown in the world yet meant to signify a refined, pure, soft
and gentle love. But in the process become choked up,
pianissimo mumbles, garbled up with the nonsense of
incomplete incoherent mumbling.
So this must be what it feels like when a flower blooms --
The simultaneous collision of a thousand heart-shaped moons.
