Lemon ate. Eliminate. Illuminate.
The dance, modified by circumstance, not chance.
The lead, not Lancelot, but lanced a lot.
Well done not rare. Outlasting the unfair.
Critical thinking while criticized without blinking.
Fiercely and tenderly committed while submitted.
Taught when caught while being sought.
Awake during sleep as a sheep under His keep.
Making time for the sublime. Ready to turn on a dime.
Broken into a remake. Remarkable through heartache.
Peace as the release becoming a masterpiece.
The ultimate facelift from harmonizing shame with repentence.
Cleaner and better and better energy.
Faux pa.
Intensely sharpened.
It takes pause, Pas, and paws.
The birth of a storm
Is it fire or is it form
Is its desire cold or is it warm
Is it delight or is it scorn
Is it a question about to be born
Is the answer seamless or torn
What does the promise warn
Oh I remember why I was born
I want to scream, make a scene,
beyond the mean, a new shot clean
where wrestling is no struggle
nor the options I juggle.
The pin of my creative pen
is power to stop, begin again.
My mind, sometimes blind,
no longer to leave me in a bind.
I’m bound to the sound
that leads me to the ground
at the cross I found, now sound
even when not strong or am wrong.
Salute to rising and improvising.
Learning as I go
to learn new ways, not ego.
Creative and combative
Ear to the ground, as a native.
Now passion to fashion a heart of compassion
Permission with condition to position the volition
that I continue in the venue of the Eye
that clears the sky that will not die
except to be with me
The pleasure of sadness.
Confusion is often the clarity to wait and observe rather than figure out a short cut.
More serious, yet simpler.
Running from or running to a false premise.
Anesthetized by fear and anger.