The believer and his fate, mother and her children, tongues and expressions. When beautiful things happen jaws are dropped and languages fail to stick their tongues out. The anti clockwise motion of the clock is the workings of the mad man, Me! I have always wanted beauty to stay, but its found a way of disintegrating, probably nothing should be like God.
The glass door shatters, the little child screams, his mom wakes, we downstairs look upstairs. Sadness is the poets food, his contrapment to birth a beauty, just a part... pity, its a part.
Trying too hard to embrace the fire, to make it a part of me. Suddenly, it begins to flow, my spirit soars. What was once a dream sits with me at the table... Its nothing compared to the dream. I believe there's beauty in the struggle.
The female child and all her innocence, perfectly playing her role, but imperfect in society's eyes. Her dancing in the sand, growing in grace and manipulating society. Then she tells that other boy, "I'll follow you!"
One day she realizes a life is formed within her. Radiating joy as she sits in the rocking chair outside on the lawn, dreaming of the day the apple would drop. The passing on of her true love, her once perfect features begin to sag as she watches her children grow. It's a song that is almost at its very end, though we wished it would play forever. Beauty!
God is the most entertained of us all. He, time after time mocks the so called perfect beauty of earth.
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