The wind through trees is the waves on the sand and rain in the fields. Their concept of concussive sound is the spirit of the earth.

The purity of the white snow hills, the voice of the black dirt and rock is the soul of the world.

Just like an empty lust, you are the charge in my brain. Even in broken trust, I want to sing while in pain. I see the flashing lights, is it thunder or fame, cameras or lighting? It's the same in the rain.

Piece my heart with a flaming sword, tears from my soul fall as I sing to my Lord.

Warm the chill of my cold harbor, take my breath away like icy water.

Dive into the deep dark pools of the mountain lakes, feel the black and empty space. Walk among the burning trees and smell the taste of autumn leaf, falling like embers.

Inside I see the sweet swirl of pink silks as the velocity of various velvets spin and dance with the red of dawn and blue midnight.

The soul, spirits, and essence of the world's intelligent entities bring new life and breath as they lash out. When they touch and intake you, and the music of your soul is shattering in the ferocious frequency of the universe, your eyes shine with a wave of white blooming flowers of starlight.

When will the poor and needy see that they are the subject of etheric potential? When will they see what I have come to know, kiss the infinity flower and trifecta bloom? To see the ether and face the quintessential quality of the Gods?

I know not when others will finally see the cosmos. So in the end, as I have said, so shall I say, that all I have is a hope of a wish
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