The moon half full, in a dusk filled world
Of push and of pull
It takes a dollar to purchase, a bread and a loaf
And to a smiling dervish.. a different approach
He is such a rascal, he strays not from death
And whispers sweet mantras upon his dried breath
The whispers and wisps, such beauty benign
He strolls with a cane, and detests human kind
His detest born from mercy, his suffering sweet.. he just loves his pathway, and thinks it so neat
He loves all his friends, and speaks their names lively
Forever enthralled, with spin practice as hobby
Stop voicing the sentence, theres no point of entrance.. but maybe perhaps you can learn from his presence, its wavy and lush like a thick head of hair.. and breaths molten lava, discriminate care.
Wow such a presence.. its luscious and sad.
Like the boy skipping town who has murdered his dad, a deed he didnt know he was capable of.. is killing a sin? If it's done out of love? Is gratitude sweet, when its brittle and frail? Its freeing to breath, when dying for air?
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