Dancing in the rain of humanities shoes is as the sand does the role on the beach stoop,

waves on the side to froth a move as the water is brine,

each tear that has been shed to the cheeks of shale surround,

this is the full to touch on the dead,

every task that has fallen from boots.

In that is the very strength that is found to say that life is on the ground,

thunder and lightning on the bring is just a torn strain of the sound that crashed the paved sentence to steeps,

storms on the mile of a quiet calm in witness to the death of chords,

joked I have still on a sync to that treasure of lane And avenue Road,

singing in the simply stand,
its a Hand in Understanding the difference on the Read.

Tomorrow yesterday on no edge is the cliff notes on a climb,

bearing on the rise,

know kite needed no string for that is the base of morsel,

this on the how And that is the Wares.

Point on the comma take a breath and sure the self to these parades of lead betters,

the raised brow off the hand,

that hold that never did come to say,

the soaring floor of a conversation just to hug the breathing torn,

hover over the language from the cent to the crown,

each wing clipped to fit the terrors wall Up.

Dive deeper to the form of in on the comb,

no snarl or tangle could have brushed such a Turtles Hare on the goals,

but dinner is snow and breakfast has a becoming rise,

for the Sun shines to allow my smile to never frown the nature of things naturally.

It is the breaking Tide that chart of the Hi that has delivered a death by death proxied strum,

drums that beat the life till the write pens a window to familiar the seer a mirror,

in properly told, in the silents of no sleep, on the rings, the fire and the shirts,

there was no lie to trust the span of what said in gentle dawn that the World is drown.

So swim and speak a Truth to those that had tack,

saddle note with account,

be of the rein on the stride to jump the Moon and land a Tide,

for the ocean spoke of century on a million turns,

sands dialed a virtue to be on the grown,

swept through the Times of multiplied,

it has been a treat not a sting,

for that is left to the Twist of the gut in the Foot bird that said that I had rid it from my Chest.