megatronic

Its when you close your eyes. That you feel your soul. Like waves rushing foward. And the rain when it pours. Its the smell of spring. That you can hold while it lasts. Like the blink of an eye. And then moments surpass. Too loud is the calm. Only made for the few. So when everything's in order. There's no halt in queue. Too perfect to be human. Only truly divine. So nature's song goes Perfectly; no spine. Its the edge of the paper. That slices you deep. Like split second thinking. And few moments of sleep. Its the lies that you whisper. That steadies the ground. Like strangling hands. Only helping you drown. Its the a

the thoughts that are so perfect the thoughts that are so clear the riddles ive uncovered their meanings sit so near during moments of grogginess come my pictures of clarity i will frame them and hang them and forever wear them proud. until tomorrows intuition until tomorrows crowd until tomorrow stabs in doubt until tomorrow clouds

It's startling how so perfectly clear everything is to everyone. But no one can see it but them. This works for everyone. The insane mother that drowns her children knows what she is doing. Knows the repercussions. Knows that we probably won't understand her or her reasons. And knows that we probably think her insane. The man that sits quietly in church knows why he is there. He knows at least one chink in his armor is straight. He knows what he believes and it is concrete. Sit him down in front of an athiest or a jewish man and he is fully prepared to go at it, in many different ways, with their salvation in mind. While these other two men e

I turn my back once more the agony rains down so slow my poor heart is soaked and I know not where i go too many times prior to me has this mountain been climbed before whats the difference if i succeed and just add one to the score the magic lifts and falls as if it is at home but the paths that id rather walk hold light that isnt shone distractions now and again they keep me from this goal stealing away my inner peace and nipping at my soul do i feel it wilt away or will it remend strong the scars and scabs all memories of things that were done wrong. the hollowed look i hold for you is not that of intention i wish tha

The watchtower. The man takes his post. Never questioning or thinking. The sight through his scope The right hand of god. He wears this uniform proudly. Boots shined, badge straight. His job too important for any other. One of a kind becomes his opinion. These tasks he can manuever. To take one on and another rest. The confusion of the day asunder. Stacked on and packed on into stress. Righteousness not a questionable virtue. Never up for discussion day to day. The truths we hold the promises kept All seen as illusions; decay. No everything is seen. As he watches over us clearly. Binoculars and transmitters ready. He'll l