Humble Hands

This world so fragile

sketched out

and slowly fading away

but alas hope lies in

the hands that

ever so gracefully embraces

this world like a newborn infant

from day to night

these hands

comfort all of their sorrows

 like flowers who

place their fragrance’s upon our nose’s

they retreat to slumber

and still the hands cradle them

until again they rise

to live lives in  ignorant bliss

not knowing what keeps them

from falling up or down

these are the hands that remain humble and silent

until the day

this world is old enough

to see

Life is just a mine field

Fighting up hill battles

While falling down a mountain

Collisions of mortars meet my flesh

Maybe after this war peace will come swift

Transcendental Pyschodelia

Relapse

of this collapsing mind

sanity setting in

and flowing out

second opinions are somthing

I can do without…

There are always two side

to every story

but I feel like my plot

has been writen in 3D…

Life, a continuious pyschodelic trip

where trees breathe cool spring breezes

and clouds have eyes so that

they may see

all that lies beneath…

If only everyone slouched

a little towards nirvana

what a change this

world would see