I’ll write you a letter once. To show that I’m different and in need of you. I’ll not trick, with a trickster. I’m you from another time creating a better field, for these wings of arrogance. Maybe a king between blue sky and sea, will see courage. I’ll not trick, with a trickster I said. Yet, I’d love a challenge up ahead. Break me you that reads, reader which I’m aiming with a desk, a chair and a pen that inks. These voices, will stop when? These angelical traces, remnants from people with no faith.
Will you see farther, much further than them? Help the needy like Robin Hood letting down the bow, with an arrow in hand or blame, blame and be heavy in. Is it a contract I need to sweat? What is the real test!? Healing from their remnants or shaming my own name in a victimizing jest. I’m courage, I’m me. Not fire, not wind, not a body cut to a droplet of blood. Just whatever you in me see.
I saw a door once shaming what Eden could be. I’ve perceived so many colors of the rainbow through the mist. People as creatures, people as diseased. Was that door an open sky? Was it you taming the idea of a young spiritual light? May I die between ideals or find that deepness that’ll help me fly? Are you even reading? There’s too much information out there. Too many mirrors focused to be heart hunters.