Golden

I know where to go,
how to compound words so tightly,
they squeeze moisture out of the air,
but only in the shape of golden tears.
Treasure, at the end of rainbows.

Set it on a mark to go!
Your flow can set a hand free.
Heart can be your new start,
free fly and find tomorrow’s glee.

I have a chest made of map;
know thyself is written across the top,
where myself remains smitten sapped,
I go sweetly within my souls glowing pot.

It sings like. . .

mysterious melodious magic music,
that moves it past the point of pain;
like cranes that fly to lift
heavy things that no longer sing
to deeply planted grain.

Grow to the heights of tallest tree!

Set your heart free!
Like mysterious melodious magic music.
Eye on the goal, walking rubble road,
sure to touch it, even after fork-split.

Our souls are made of bliss!

I know where to go,
how to compound words so tightly,
they squeeze moisture out of the air,
but only in the shape of golden tears,
that later become rainbow treasure,
that frees us from our fears.

by Kevon Simpson © 2014

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