Awoken by Ones Self Clock

Wrestling with the covers to lie as a rustled leaf that has fallen to the ground in falls atmosphere.  The outer contours of feeling begin to stiffen, core sour with warmth, and mind boggled as to why I feel everything in the appearance of thought in an untenable light.

A tactful thought creeps into my day before I step a foot out of bed. 

“We must be our own before we can be another’s.” – Emerson

I collect myself by planning out the day through a series of motions and steps.  

What shall I get from this day, give it in return, leave behind, accomplish, and fail; amongst a fortunes day?  I begin thinking of all the people I love, the thought isn’t measured it’s only the thought of their love.

The weight.

The memory of them I can tell a tail, hum a tune, and sing the love they have given me.  Positive thoughts, that have pounce on nature’s good will, and harmony from people that have etched breathes of life into me.

A Fleeting Night

Walking down the path from the dune through the sharp hair pinned grass that moves by the motions of the wind.   The light isn’t trapped here it breathes from the sky ambient orange-blues-greens, envious light that can cast silhouettes of its passengers here.

The sound found here carries the lakes ominous fleet of feeling of sand and drought.  Everything is hushed by the howling of the wind that whistles a leafless tune of shadows night.  Another city can be found across the skyline that pronouncing Lake Michigan. 

A place of destination filled with lights and troublesome wind. 

The throwing of waves, splashing its water beneath its creeping yet vast body of grinding rocks an stone that has been turned into bountiful ashes of pebbles and sand filled with timeless space.  The ground has many forms of mass it courses with a grinding ting of still but bountiful coldness. A tranquil space were ones breath can’t be heard through the cavities of the body.  The feelings of being looked upon by nature, unscathed in judgment.  Many tumultuous thoughts are carried and left here: by night.

Succulent

Jubilant mind,

Wondering soul,

Nil thought,

In spots of emotion,

Dot…dot…polka dots,

found on the backside of the bug called a lady.

gushing thoughts,

casting lines,

hooking thoughts and throwing them back.

Green ark.

Pads of green relished in a thin silver filmed lining of wax.

Few pads curl from the heat, the body of water coated in living entities of alga, green in its own rights a forest amongst the pond.  Soon sightly eyes begin to appear staring back in yellows, oranges, and browns; frogs begin to hop as bugs sing a humming tune.

A sight unforgettable, filled with natures smell, unsettled earth ting, soft pungent smell that grows a ponderous lake pong.  Soil here is unwalkable by us two but common to nature.

be—be—be the infinite

As I view fragments of an amorphous, that is, without regard to form, in the order in which they occurred to me. 

Sound is unjust wielding a phenomenon of nature’s calm storm.

Morning’s light moves elsewhere.

The invisible action of movement, it doesn’t act violent at this very moment,

the sounds of prosody,

ruffles

sputters

chatters, because the foliage is being frank yet coy with wind.

The atmosphere dulled in vibrancy, floating in an anxious field of cumulonimbus clouds.

The weather permits itself as sober yet existing within a false tempo;

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what a fiasco of charmlessness.

Bountiful in tonal shadows, stringent in ominous relief: foreplay. 

The showers begin rioting furiously ripping and churning the air violently.

The noise, supersaturate when drumming the landscape with only droplets of rain.

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When I don’t sleep at night.

Restless mind between the hours of night gives way to all the things I’m missing out on right now, who I’m not close to anymore, all the good times that will never happen again, the people who I’m not close to anymore, all the people who mean the world to me who have forgotten about me forever, and I get a awful sleeted mix between loneliness and nostalgia. 

Regardless of the future the moment is now; life’s a constant.

Time moves forward, people move in between the past, and future.

Considering time as a factor will fumble at your feet.  What matters is how you pick up what you dropped and move forward.

Regardless of the circumstances, I look forward to tomorrow.

You’re A Great Pollinator

My words couldn’t sum all the parts of you because people are endless as the universe, time, and space.  A description of words would be selecting, separating out like sand into different tonal, values, and thus you.  The world you continuously thrive in, as your passion, is constantly streamlined as a beehive of excitement, and its means of heartfelt are yours.  Gifted at having a big heart, nor is it to big for your body, and don’t let it go.

Kept in sight are infectious expressions such as a smile, laughter, stillness when walking, and even the willingness to share the unbounded mind of memories.   The exchange is marvelous. Resonance becomes a scope of affection; soft kept words, raining in shimmer of brown lockets and a background of somber lit eyes.  While cherishing the fondness of a good hug when having to part.