we drown in the river of dreams...
thirst for the waters that bore life for us...
dug deeper than the seeds in search of it,
had an affair with the light only touched by the sky...
hoping the night would one day tire of being a guest to hosts with their eyes closed...
seeking refuge in another realm, painting the black canvas with the colour of thought...
for who imagines of nothing...?
whose fruit is grown in the land that begs for humectation?
hapiness lives within but cannot remember the last time it was home...
and the heart pretends to survive alone...
survive yet not live, for to live is not only to survive....
and greed is disguised as the thought of the thoughtless,
feeding off the hunger of the selfish...
taking from the pots of those without....
as the coals invite a little part of hell to heat the portions of sustenance,
the food for which the soul shall not partake...
that of the earth is of the flesh,
that of the flesh is born of death....
the likeness of the father is hidden to the eye,
with rested eyelids, a moment is taken to look inside....
the children of the earth are born from tears of the sky...
bury the seeds so they may know what it means to be alive...
