Every moment should not be wasted I was told in the dark night where the soul asks all these mosaic questions.
I took a peddle of a rose and licked it into my senses taking each moment as a blade of grass into my consciousness.
A beast or an angel is what renders itself grounded in my spirit awaiting its release.
Thoughts subjected to tones of adverse setting enter into the minds eye gentle like a lover penetrating lover.
Those who await the bounty of the rich are left hopeless in their own cry and desert imagination of their cause.
All within the battling ground of the mind the soul weeps for its return to its desire.
Infused with casting tones memory disputes its rousing states in reflection of our own inner play.
Stages are confused when we don’t see a clear view of our power to create, to live and to love.