Ah the Beautiful!


Ah the beautiful!
The sweet!
The things I hold within my palm
The play we are in
The show we perform
The silence between the shout
Surrendering youth to experience
Surrendering bliss to exhaustion
Ah the Beautiful!
The Sweet!
The summer we create
The autumnal song we orchestrate
The gasp at every stab
Acknowledging the blushing cheeks
Acknowledging the disappearing days
Ah the Beautiful!
The Sweet!

Every notion of every glance
Every triumph of every man
Every failing of every king
Its what I hold within my palm

I see the colours in my dreams, I dream of writing poetry, It is the beautiful, It is the Sweet, It is the loud exhale of my trialing self, trying to combat a television world, with words, with the beautiful, with the sweet.

I hear a great symphony
A chaotic challenge of musical beauty
I can see into the grey darkness
A heavy weight that bursts with idea
I think of the high pitch of life
I think of the hard thud of falling men
I think of pine forests
Of pine needles and shards of light
And the gentle fingers of each little wave
Grow bigger
The gentle fingers undress me
The gentle fingers pull me out
And I RIDE, I RIDE…
Far from the shore, from the world
From the butterfly that illuminates
I ride the edge of froth upon the wave
Like a king upon a chariot of ivory
And I scream

‘AH THE BEAUTIFUL!
THE SWEET!’

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