The Seed

I’m so happy its getting hard to get angry
This emotion isn’t under me, but you’ve got to understand me
The mind is a garden and with the pen I’m a little handy
Yet I’m in the purgatory of this penmanship, a fly guy on happy landing
This rose bed has some thorns that I’m sure one day will crown me
In this diary of a late bloomer I’m not a slave to my roots but I’m grounded
See though I want to be down with a crew that love haters and hate “fakers”
I’m feeling too logical to be creative.
I’d have to saw off my shotgun though it’s in need of maintenance
I might spit some fire, maybe a pond or a whole lake of it
Drop science, create soap, eat a whole cake of it
Yet deep down I’d be the faker just for the sake of it
Maybe this season I’ve a reason to a take a break to make a break.
View the pasture and start landscaping it.
Where art becomes business I need my logic to feel creative

You can be antique or antiquated, glib or venerated
Despite a thunderstom of grief, this rainbow is so insatiable
I’m karma collecting calmness with my carpal, ainimating intimations
I found my mind to be the limit, now I’m a moonraker
A klondike of idyllic nature, standing like the Durj Khalifa
I’ve anaesthetised anathema so now I’m a designer without a model
An atheist made a zealot for the throne she’s the queen of
They say I’m hooked on a feeling that I deeply believe in
My hearts been given to the best bidder without a need for stealing
I want to penetrate every layer of what makes her appealing
If the bait was being myself then I wasn’t very hard to reel in.
So transparent yet so strong I could call it glass sealing.
Arrest by unconditional love is what I call state policing
He’s the light and she’s prism on which my rainbow is feeding
Tower of babel we ain’t, yet I meditate until my soul makes a seizure
For what we ought to be is not revealed yet
We are tighter than ribbons of titanium, allied to the alloy of a name that cannot be bettered
Still I shake like prisoners on hunger strike when the appetite of my pen isn’t whetted
Am I greedy?
See, I’ve lived in rivers writing riotous rhymes like lions climbing gazelle mountains
Yet abundant abounding sirens beat my ear drums like hooks to the face from father time
That she is sweetly singing to my soul like crystals catching the winds of Pentecost
I was lost to my foundation with a heart full of stone.
We clicked and I was thrown
Yet it seems I’m right at the start of a poem with no end anticipated
I got blinded looking at the son now I believe in germination
Loving our love defying logic cos finding her was inspiration at best


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Filed under Just Living, Relationships

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