There is a church that many follow, but that few understand. I think this relates like the guitar in the band. Even those that don’t believe in a man who walked on water blindly follow other sources of happiness, forgiveness, and dedication. There is a willingness to be accepted in the main stream, but for some there is want for simple truth. The church I follow happens to be one of sweetness, temporary pleasures, and sometimes a hard break. This church is meant to be shared with others, but this isn’t a normal mass made for the gossiping lot; this is one built from the hearts of a connected few.
There are moments that stand out like a giraffe on a table. And as you dance to the music playing in your head, you can feel the rhythm beading in your sweat. Reach out for a partner and be prepared to give. A listening ear is only as good as the answering mouth. The barrier you build should be enough to climb. Swing the door a little harder and don’t leave me behind. When you feel the concrete begin to weigh you down, step into another realm for there is something else to be found.
Let yourself be caught in the moment of the new. Look not at the sax player, but at your own untied shoe. And when you remember that bite of yesterday think of how your words helped gravel the way. Enjoy your breakfast while it’s on your plate. Don’t think of what you could be doing, but engage yourself fully in what needs to be done. Let the emotions overtake your routine and be your food and sleep. When travelling down the road of life don’t think about the car you’re in, but the condition of your feet.
This makes sense to me. I am the number 12. I am the music you are hearing and the rhythm in your soul. I am a listener that likes to feel control. Sometimes I find my breakfast to be such a chore that I would rather eat it off my hardwood floor, but let me up unto the peachy sky and watch as not one tear runs from my eye. I too shall remember the shirt of dirt you wore, so eager to explore this sacred moment for just a second more.
I’m feeling quite emotional. I hope no one can tell, but I can taste the disappointment that’s crawling from within. Nostalgia is creeping by and stalking at the window faintly smiling at the screams gone by. It was meant to last an hour, but someone hid the clock. Search among the cushioned jet and you’re sure to find a friend. Let not someone else bear your cross, the weight was made for you. I worship the chocolate too… as well as worship me and you. If poetry was puppeteered it’d be done by nerds in big brown shoes.
You cut my heart in half and dabbled it in oil. I stabbed at the pieces with imaginary foil. I took upon my hand a lock of rusty hair that had blown my way in the sunburnt air. And even though it’s hard to breath I take a sip of something new and fill myself beyond what Sofia never knew. And if my lips should happen to pause, look not for the reason, but for the cause. Don’t lose sleep over my attitude. Keep your eyes open, but don’t be lewd.
I hope you’ll introduce me to your fan once more. The line of shit you fed me needs to fall to the floor. Cover my reflection in the purest white and maybe I’ll see differently in another light. Forget not the penguin’s key of what it is I ask. The number you are searching for is sure to be your last. Jumping in the cotton seeds is a fine farewell, but don’t forget the pair of lips that can deliver you from hell. As you lay the blinds to rest I’m sure to see you smile, but don’t forget to stand in the lavender mile.