The summer, spring, autumn and winter rushing within my cloud-filled emotions, painting themselves in my thoughts. They pull me deeper and deeper in this fiery-red and bloodstained rye wine.
Attachment. It sure is an avenging aeon filled with trimmed chains, tightened togheter as they sink in like the mindful enduring ointment they're proud to be. Although not really vengance, no, unlike the folks from around believe it to be. Like a porcupine, armed to the teeth with its spikes, as an unyelding warrior, holding the front with nothing but some old rusty carbine he got from a fallen mate, without a drop of fear in his eyes. Like a proof of love, this rushing blast of heat and cold.
Beautiful, this nature of being. I just hope my friendliness and respectfulness assist me in having a good relationship with these lovingly hugging thornweeds.
Oh autumn wind, do I want you, do I want you.
This rift got a nasty pile of challenges, I get it needs some right doing. I got this idea that I should learn to have you.
Doing all that shit alone is what's bringing me to this shade out of my mind. I hope you get my bell ringing on a good meal, and my flowers adorning your bedtime, their scent brimming with the flaky thin tasty lavender I love so much.
I'm glad you blow on me. This pile of junk in my head became much more apparent since you did. And I'm afraid of not cleaning it all up while you're still brushing these light blue and indigo fields of mine.
As if my heart's just shining on it's own accord.
Do I love you, autumn wind, do I love you.
I just hope I'm the soft and gentle earth you fall in as a dry leaf, other than the tree merging in silence without you who's gone by your own brownish wind.
This life of attachment, I already understand why people scream from it. But I wonder if they aknowledge just how much these chains bring sense to living.
Oh you autumn wind, we're already at your season on the northern hemisphere.
"That's a nice text you got there." I told the kid.
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