The Morning Sunset

Beautifully mad, happily sad.

Rest assured for my breath you cannot take, each breath that ascends from out of my lungs travels to God to be absorbed up above. Surely my mornings would not be grand if it was not for the faith of Abraham. Yet I digress and sit among the lilies in the pond, hoping to catch a glimpse of the morning sunrise. A reflection of the work of God within nature, how can you miss it on your day to day adventures?

          My mind shall be a center for creativity to flow out likewise to inculcate each of my observations into revelations that will help create manifestations for human nature. Oh but these times are so very sad and artistic geniuses are nowhere to be found. Where have they all disappeared to? Traversed back into time, I shall indulge my senses in things of heavenly attribute to create things of genius pursuits. If I might add I admire beautiful things, beauty from the inside out. Not make up upon ones face, and hair that traveled from place to place. Where is your magnanimous spirit, show me your good heart and my love shall never part. My love shall encompass you like a shield, as God’s favor surrounds me like so with healing. 

            How could one get so lost within the context of magnificent things that a garden with many variations of plants and flowers becomes of more significance than a new vehicle? My mind has been wrapped differently than most, I have been set apart from many, and like so I have become closer to God. I might understand him better than most like Beethoven without an ear to hear, yet his spirit within guided him to orchestrate shockingly resplendent pieces of art. That was his gift and he had a task to accomplish with it. I too have a gift I would like to leave behind in this forsaken beauteous world. Just some tea for two please, me and my girl.

            Outside in the midst of the central garden, not caring who saw us, yet we waltzed so freely. We had tea, I would stare at her refulgent eyes and my darkness would leave ascending towards the sky. My heart would melt at her ravishing beauty, it is indescribable, and you just have to be there to witness it in all of its actuality. This was not a 17th century flashback; however this place is a place I would love to take you back. Let us follow the prophecies left within music, to discover places of lament, that in a sense we will change the meaning to that of such a beautiful limn. As we shall kiss in a portrait painted by a famous artisan, to go on sell at a galleria for the price of a leg, an arm and a tail. Alongside of the lovely portrait, will we be standing there with a story to tell, an often lovely tale of two love birds sitting upon the mast of a sail boat traveling across the sea. Our stories seem to be rather freeing if I might add because of the expressions on people’s faces that I was seeing.

            It seems as though with every manic episode, there comes the onset of a period of grief, whereas I take my thoughts and sit comfortably firm within a leaf. Completely taking off the sheet to cover my face, my expressions pour out anguish and relief. Written in words across my body, for my body language has come down with writers block, my feet they have become cold with the absence of cotton socks. My thoughts they will shut me down, my freedom will be compared to that of a person in a house with the doors and windows locked, as rain pours on the outside and I am within a shell taking it all in. Yet with the light of God I have been kept sane in a darkened world that seems to fight me at each and every turn. My words are not my own I only write what comes through me, like so I unlock each door and run away never to turn back and look at the past. The meretricious acts of my happiness must go; I will not fake anything any longer. I am joyful and tormented but my art has driven me closer to God, he has never departed from me. Not like failed romances in the past, I don’t dwell on them but each story was rather sad. I had to experience them in order to write like this so madly passionate about the words pouring out of my thoughts into my hands. 

            Let us go yea, to our little beach covered in orange sand, surrounded by blue waters and the ostentatious valuables that we shall showcase but never really use shall align the walls of our house. Before I go beautifully mad, I shall remember you and all that we had.