take a dip into the morning sun and find god in the rays. it’s like pulling on a tightrope, with the walker all in disarray and nearly falling, falling. and so you let go. but in letting go, he stumbles and realizes you were there helping his pace along, singing a song of torrid dreamlands. and now caught up in a land of cleanliness and living on all wrong. he slips from your sights and you find him wailing; hearing him sigh and outrightly lying on the pavement. he’s fine. he’s landed on his feet. and all because you were watching, waiting, hoping. loving the trenches while high above the clouds all dug up. and soon, he’ll be back on that tightrope. so hang on.
good morning, all odd or translucent
Leave a reply