Dreams are complicated. Infinite, intuition, always unconscious.
Originally posted on Envirotherapy:
This is the night I write a love poem.
I couldn’t see past the humble day
It isn’t allowed anymore
Our future awaits us.
If I talked about peace
If I gave somebody the o.k. To make me obey them and hurt them would you stop me?
I didn’t go anywhere
Would you stop me?
There isn’t a home I write in as well as yours.
We pray for peace
Would you hold Me?
The glass is half full.
The rose bush got to feel. whatever kind of flower took hold of it was there to wink at the little boy. He isn’t that cool boy
He isn’t determined or even nice. That flower garden smelled of everything sweet. We all know it is where he would kneel. He would place a ring on the girl. His goddess.
That morning wasn’t nice and she told him to be brave.
swarms of bees stood watch
A garden with a promise.
A bright sky
A dark sky
The little girl was in a garden and picked a rose. A handsome boy thinking he will be on his knees. She took a drink from the garden hose and spit out all the water. He ran and thought
I will take away all her pain.
Children came from all the other homes. They had dirt on their toes
Rain came down and washed their feet
The real thing everyday
I could envision being anything but a robot
Rockstars are comfortable
I drank tonight
the race between me and the gift
It is business.
There aren’t any lonely moments
We order business cards.
I put aside IPads or refuse to write in my day planner
The only rock star I’ll ever see is one with a name.
Loose straps that keep ending up more grounded.
one button, a pattern, mating pair of ducks with their eyes open.
Use some Orthoease with Cinnamon essential oil. Another one of my new favorites is nutmeg.
Just thinking I need to get back to this.
A country song is a railroad waking up in your arms.
I practice letting myself make mistakes.
They asked for a change of pace.
Let me go back to the farm.
I told you about my garden
It’s so warm and heavy.
Walk the tracks and healthy
I can be good to you.
Talk about ranches
Strumming my guitar isn’t easy because I’m poor.
Somebody sold the buffalo to get wealthy.
A little sad song. Freedom.
Has it been weak?
Has your back turned to nature!?
There is weather.
As weeds grow along a path you create trails that are rough.
I played in a band because I was from the wrong side of the track.