I write these words
Green grass beneath my feet
I have a sacred homer, a babe too
Society says I’m now complete.
Distilled waters
of a balalaika, playing kind
Overfloweth
Dismiss ice blocks jutting out
Clearly on the rocks.

Skidrow composed
with a head full of the sublime.
Not one of us can stand in all perpetuity in the sun
& shine.
Science adds a rationale to inform those lacking in sense
To subtract those people who we think revolve around our orbit.
If you recognise that instinct.

If it faintly find a pulse of love
Don’t ignore this sign preordained from the unseen above.

Spend 10 million ways to capture each moment of mirth spent in your star crossed lover’s finite existence.
Think not too far in the distant

Future & imagination fuels to the furies ears echoing our doubts.
Even palm readers learn to stay away from an answer to every Question’s insistence.

If there was a moral estimation to impart from this musing
Seek out existential ideas to rekindle the hearth of hearts
Two much history already been written.

True love is a conundrum of confusing
Too much future mapping unites
soul mates in need of refusing.

Eradicate over analysing
To evade living in a nebulous cloud of doubt.

These words I write
Green grass beneath my feet.
The end doesn’t rhyme

Mirrors reflecting the next steps
Dare to take a step
free
fall?
No easy feat.

(Beneath my feet- stream of consciousness writing)