beneath the treacherous currents of time
i, for once, float preciously still
unknowing of tomorrow
uncertain of today
and this is beautiful
the knowing of none but my paint brush
the words that spew from my brain and drench my tongue
that flow out through song
a painful passion inside my lungs
that reaches in and sets ablaze
when belonging melodies are birthed from me
i finally feel what purpose is
when ink pours on pages completely contaminated by suffering and joy alike
i understand what i am meant for
below the mounds and crowds of people flocking across the same bridge
is a steady water that remains humble, belongs to no one and no thing
i fall into this unconscious sea not so gracefully at my expense
fleeing from a moving crowd who know nothing of what brings a fiery desire inside of them
i slaved and carved myself away to follow the prototype
i too, walked mindlessly and programmed by a flawed society
soon rejected by these carbon copies, their privilege spoke louder of any else
i find myself beneath the trenches
and i rescue myself below the bridge
and i reach inside the pocket of my soul
where coins hold no merit
where knowledge is suffering
where art creates your own self
i reach for my paint brush
in the pocket of my soul
where the divine intertwines with me
and i know, when we all die, the bridge will break
but heart and soul, remain forever
