He can often be found drifting unawares in the past,
Reminiscing on the faraway lands he has seen last.
He prefers serenades of Sinatra while his drink pours,
And laughs loudly while sipping a red sea from crystal shores.
He looks up to the philosophers with ancient ideas
And admires a man with a mind much greater than his.
The melodies of reeds and the plucking of cello strings
Are his favorite sounds, besides when his church choir sings.
He has an affluent diction that's not yet been surpassed,
Yet a word as simple as "love" is so carelessly cast.
He makes his intentions clear, but his desires unknown,
And amongst many close frie
Whispers beneath smooth folds of moonlight
slip into clairvoyant reality as a passionate sigh.
Smoothly as his finger tips hidden from sight
beneath the valley of sensation, they slide.
Star lights dance from the windows to the walls
with every open and close these panes of glass bestow,
but their light never illuminates wherever they fall
quite as brightly as the heavens they hung below.
I couldn't hear the sounds that rose from the Sea
who whispered silent poems I misunderstood.
Yet his flowing waves, as they gently rocked me,
filled my ears with warm waters so that I could.
Roots intertwine as their mounting energy flows;
th
And It felt as though (I'm flawed)
it was as close as I could get
to being held in the arms of God.
I was awed.
It didn't matter that Heaven wasn't there
- wasn't surrounding you.
I think I would rather go nowhere.
I swear.