Burnt Book

It's all in a jar, each person, simply a record of a person who lived, a life that could be, hints of their journey, in the garden of Eden, the sun and the moon watch, measures of friendship, how far we allow each other in, a universe eating, the river flows outwards, a hierarchy of truths, I don’t really see it, this nest by a river, somewhere out there, progression is natural, and you’re already complete…

I'm Not Your Dad

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Is the inclination natural, the allowance of good in your life, each scattered seed, with each passing eternity, seeking some sort of wholesomeness, a completion that allows your identity, an imperfect perfection, whoever you are, as the river flows outward, who knows, do you have a compass, I could spend my life, building signposts, this good Samaritan, whose mind can accept the inherent selfishness, a universe eating, and the harvesting of karma, somewhere along the journey, but in the end, it boils down to whether I care to do it, an act of which I can be accepting, the sun and the moon, pushing buttons, and asking questions, there are already architects at work, truth and sequence echo, the natural progression, the river still flows outwards, and as I recall the echo of my soul, I wonder, if there was ever need to worry…