in his mind

His lines like intricate splashes of colour, spill on to the page like tears rolling down the mountain face

Gathering momentum as they descend because he is well grounded and his salt flavours his earth

Striving to be the salt that flavours rather than the dirt grounded by hurt

His lines monetize time hoping he’ll profit from faith in hard work

Flowing like blood around the body of truth, growing in spirit in spurts

Painting pictures of perennial punch endurance his heart is not opaque

His lines mean his audacity of hope was a slow bake but he was and still is on the rise

See in his lines, his heart has too much rhythm for him to know when he’s been beaten

Indignation seething, success still teething he takes notes of conceited believers

Recipes for deceit from facetious deceivers are levers for him to believe in the notion that perfection is found in fleeting moments

More than the results of intelligence quotients bad times will ever be the quota for a life in marvellous times

So we ignite with a life in marvellous minds, transpose to life in marvellous lines which don’t always make for those marvellous times

There’s no pardon for this grind, never milling around or spewing bile

Life is reality and we cannot afford to live in exile or domiciles of the docile

So as I learn life as his lines are my lines and in my mind I have to live my life in marvellous grinds because marvellous lines like hearts can be broken

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