let it flow over me like a prayer,
slowly and sweetly as one can hope for…
i find myself singing verses from some strange psalm.
from reflections in the eyes to unseen softness:
i know not how to define these moments.
between the spirit and consciousness,
the breadth of existence.
obstinately reflecting in memory as it builds identity,
as it obstructs infinity and consummates divinity.
[and i walk the line, the fine line between heart and head,
logic and love, as not to be so black and white.]
but then i’m always in the gray cast shadow.
no way of knowing what to do in the gray.
i reach out to grasp what i cannot clearly see
because i feel it is there waiting,
waiting for me and only me…
perhaps my passion does betray me from
time to time, but like i said, i walk the line.
control is a strange thing to touch softly with delicate hands
as i plead for it to stay mine, as i plead to have a say,
to define one side of madness in terms i can readily
understand.
