F – Whatever That Means

Taking the long road,
a journey of realignment,
a segment of self actualization,
the part where you get to see yourself from the inside out.

A video rock star,
glass full off expensive lacquer, 
black reflection of who you are,
long lost hidden scars,
how you dwell on that untouchable mountain top, 
waiting for the world bubble to go "pop."

But I wasn't intent on destroying that heart,
or content to reside here in the dark,
that was what triggered the start,
I didn't have to look too far,
to wonder exactly who you are.

My path took me through a burning lake of fire,
stretched my soul like chicken wire,
crept aside leaving me lost and stranded and tired,
the deepest of lakes,
the darkest of nights,
the brightest of dawns,
and the best of life,
seeping as honey down that delicate soul,
much more to come from this eternal erode. 

If you wanted a life of luxury,
then honey, don't go buying me out,
leaving me to dry out,
expecting the national reservoir to drought,
oh the doubt, lord God push past this clout. 

Expect, expecto,
wait, manere,
be patient, patientes estote,
the ancient insight to be found,
are not to be frowned upon,
looking down your crowned head.

A heart content to waste the days,
a soul content to live in haze,
a mind content to hide the pain,
a mouth that speaketh no gain,
the days that are drowning in rain.

I sought the rocks buried in unshakable waves,
you watched me pop into an unspeakable blaze,
they are attempting to steal my gaze,
watch on with a withered portrayal,
sinking on the thin line veil,
soon to be discovered. 

Ain't no angel watching over you,
not until you at least give it a go,
forgo all that you know,
all that you think will come,
everything that was once done,
and see the second sun,
to become what you must become. 

Your literary lies are a cheap mesmerize,
a red wine spilled on white carpet,
your black cloud shrouded heart target,
a legitimate game.

Oh well, whatever that means,
means is no beginning to an end,
an end to a discovery,
a sea of creatures tamed under your wings,
the pull of the moon on the tides.

Rising tide,
come wash over that rock,
change the green back,
so that rock can have its life back.

You want to have it all?
So, you say, then take the fall,
"You can have it all,"
"But you're not above it all,"
that was the creepiest sore,
that I ever saw,
above the rest and dripping in pastel red,
longed balcony of searing sunset.

"You can have it all,"
"You had it all."

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