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The Prince of Cups The sky falls, overloaded by the deep violet and azure of living precipitation. Denizens of the gloom filled air, glide through the tremor originating from within the spirit of the Sage. Communicating with the visionaries and wistful hearts Bringing tranquility to the outcasts, searching for an understanding Rain drops Puddles of false illusion soaking into your pants, popsicle thighs, no where to go Drip Drip, Rain drops Individual need, self-achievement requiring acknowledgment of fellow constituents Victorious ecstasy, raped by the wind Reflected by tears of wanting, unbridled desire, naked in it's purity Rain drops A pattern within a pattern, cleansing giver of life Washing away with love Sun booming in, to refresh the concepts of those who dare to dream To once again dawn the perfection of innocence Beyond space time, within the span of a day, bright sun, sweet lemonade to end thirst Precipitation of a divine plane, taken in stride Rain drops Lost in a soulless trench, finding allies in the strangest of forms Looking to destroy a non-existent wall Masked by forgetfulness, distorted...somewhere, like fog...or..c..l..ou..ds. An age of multiple Buddhas, each using the techniques of modern man to serve their own ends, and doing so openly by deceiving a disoriented flock. Lost within a bubble like void, perhaps waiting in the wings... A hero. An icon, self ordained yet of noble cause? Just a thought, let's play tennis. Precipitation lacking, p lastic cotton balls of fluff, pushed away by a celestial broom. Sprinkler TIME!!! Rain drops. |
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