Some Times

Through the invention of the word the thought missed the point that its existence was to be and not to assume the attire of symbols that were eventually clad by its confusing sense of identity.
Eons and eons passed before the magical dance of illusory particles gave way to a sequence of limitations through which the primordial ideas flowed like water through a stream of troubles, waves, and ripples.
After a while the dried up instances of a seasonal phase sunk the world of created visions and dissolved the background into a purposeless noise of unsurpassed magic.

How will you come to terms with this fabric then?

And what about that?

Here we seem to dabble in war and peace while sorrow and bliss elude us in a way that feels strangely familiar.
Apparently a deja vu exploded before this moment.
The future holds a secret that we create as we close in on it.
It claims to be an elusive quest begging for a change.

How is it then that this unique moment that we experienced with such convoluted attachment was borne out of chance events extending back into eternal space?

someones hell is your heaven
sometimes you are that someone
above the clouds a thought whimpers
but the sky is constant to the chosen one

In a race you jump the gun with a subconscious intent to win the finish line.
Although success is guaranteed in such a ploy you didn't play the game that offered its joys: the medals bronze, silver and gold - a certain place on a geometric pedestal.
The symbols are striking!
The depth of our struggles is unquestionable.
We drive to survive but when it comes down to it we are merely living.

The mind is locked in a body that dies.
The body describes the mind that it ties.

How is it then that this unique thought scintillates with detachment?

Someone spoke
like a loudmouthed bloke
trying to win the fates
while the friends and foes
dragged to the shores
treasures from an ancient cave

Opened beyond the words of swords
the blood and water merged with the gods.
Dramatic events twisted our worlds
the ultimate questions washed to the core.

Before the message in a bottle was read
the light in the eyes began to fade.
The sounds that are white were all that remained
before you could grasp it had all re-arranged.

Touch the tip of my imaginary finger
kiss my lips when you cease to linger
our souls were matched before we met
I am waiting for you beyond these dangers.

some times you are some one.
.