Can't stop the rhythm of the World. Sometimes the air in the atmosphere feels heavier than if the open space were replaced with iron. Where the appetite is missing simply because of the pressure despite a tremendous hunger brewing in the gut. As the tears of a burning desire leap with faith from the tip of the cheek to find nothing but a rapid plummet into a rich yet vapid void. In a manner where life is counted by a measure of heartbeats, with the tips of the inner extremities defining the extent of the pleasure experienced within interaction-able encounters.
The blinking eyes are outside of the time that the heartbeat keeps; illuminating the darkness of memories, to bring light to ideas, that can be held in the hands of the Father of Time. While paying tribute and praise to the harbinger of life as it is known; Mother Earth where the beauty is defiantly complex.
Blind to the written words on the wall. Environments crumbling beyond the eye. The phoenix burns to be named Lazarus. However, that light is not willed nor controlled. Pain makes a beautiful life.
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