Flowing in and out with time,
Rising high and low;
No one can e'er catch my name,
When above heaven it flies.
Flitting in and out of dreams,
And those within our waking
Moments, symbols plucked
From the vinery of God, and
Spill mind altering phrases
Into each gilded cup
To be sipped at will and then
Tossed into the mind.
A label can not possess
That which lies in
My exhalations.
Poets call those fragments
Of literacy brethren to my
Being,
But remain poetry
When my tendrils touch not
Their inky flesh.
I'll float through the
Waters of consciousness,
And permeate your dreams;
Retelling odes of years
Long past, which dreamers
Fail to even dream about,
And only recall life from
Literature.
My feet, which can be
Wrapped in many types of silk,
Move on, swing on, and sway on
To the tilt in the axis
Of euphoria
Brought in from one of
Five of Humanity's offspring.
A spice on the cake of
Eternity;
I only live to serve. |
Submission Name: The Scene in Which a Bumblebee Breaks a String
