Rambles

Says the clock tick tock goes running down the hill hand in hand with the spoon and flying off at will to the castle in the sky by and by who’s to kill the time goes tick tock tick tock all the way to see the seer who knew the sea, who wants to have her bonnie lass to be- her new best friend from the sky and in the end she will go running running down to see what music she is spraying from the tide and when she cries oh dear, she cries, to hear the lovely voice of salt and air, of sun and moon that shines from there, what lovelier voice to hear from here than that of the depths herself?

Why not give from the depths of the soul? In the midst of the chest and organs, tangled twix veins and blood, arteries and lust, flowing and wanting, pulsing and clutching at things it can never have. At a love that would quench the stinging burn that blinds the eyes and of the heart and dashes the soul to the ground, leaving it to lie and die. What fire could make a heart shiver and quake at its existence such as this? What fever could grip a body to revolt such as this has demanded? Why can nothing be done to this rage that dwells and feeds and churns and covets the idea of being let free in the most vile of manners. Lips taste the poison that begs to be unleashed, to demonstrate its ill temper and need to be seen and felt. It does not want to be stopped. It will take its pound of flesh from whoever gets in the way first: a stranger or myself.