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What would it be-

to turn to another page–

Where I did not hold any concept,

Where I saw no more age.

 

It would be a new state

of forgotten words,

where we looked at each other,

and beheld the observed.

 

So beautiful,

So linear,

and so out of line,

Where time regains value,

and life redeems mind.

 

Synchronistic is ALL,

VAST within SMALL.

 

Healing my vine,

as I gaze past seen scenic venues

and phenomenas of humankind.

 

It’s magic,

It’s Linguatic,

It’s seeking the love

of a light-solar being,

who has legs

and blessedly walked,

purposefully,

into my dream.

 

[To wake me]

*I like to make up words

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