Writing Challenge, Entry 8 : ALL Roads to HIM

The remains of a man are buried in clay,
some yellow machine did the heavy lifting,
and now four children carry the weight,
but still, lively things grow above him.

I’ve been told not to think too hard,
but if I don’t think is that escaping?
If I don’t think,
is that hopeful fear commiserating?

Eight hands hold many years now,
digits and digits of ideas and tears,
flowing rough river rapids like Jude,
brother of peace and all knowing, but not.

And here we are now.

I was dreaming in the night,
and instead of singing at the stars,
a sad song of depletion and plight,
I decided to become one with them.

Hell below me,
at my feet,
a firm foundation,
bones buried intended to brace thisss –

Wisdom seeped in before it slips out,
and now outsiders hold strong for me.

So above with everything beneath,
and bubbles blister inside me.

Thoughts surounding thoughts,
are you thinking?

A sphere seen through,
reflecting colours and light,
glowing as so many others do,
just one of many branching out.

These idea-bubbles roam royale ridges,
as they also bolster my mind beneath them,
Wordly wisdom seeped in before it could slip out,
and now outsiders and insiders are one.

6feet.jpg

p/s/ * did I mention that I am a master of photoshop?

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