Silly boy, wants to leap over the clock like the universe or God would allow such things.

Sit there and have patience, count sheep or watch the clouds move across the sky or something.

Or read until the day you die, but of course why would anyone want every day of their lives to be the same?

There's no point in fantasising about a gate you may never cross, but dreams don't harm what's real.

No, they motivate like coal to a fire, a burning desire.

But you can't have your head in the clouds forever, gazing up at the stars you'll have to die to touch.

Everyone wants to be great but not everyone is worthy or destined for the amethyst that constantly teases them like a bad friend hiding in the corner of a cave that's only light comes from the daylight outside.

Travel with the sun and moon, what other choice to you have?

Everything will fall into place with time, you just need patience, my growing child.

You're blooming and I like it, your colours are showing, they are becoming brighter than ever before.

They will either glow like a sun or fade like a ghost when you're on your deathbed.

Hush, you will have your time and you will dread the day you will have to cross the bridge to get what you want. You won't want that which you currently desire if you sin.

Besides, what you really want is to be great in your mortal life.

But God chooses the legends, so head outside and hum under the sun.

Be with the birds in the field for a while and let a much-needed sigh out. It's fine. We all have to walk this path. There's no other way but to go on. Be grateful you're still here. I don't know what's better to be young or to be old. To be middle-aged may be perfect. But what about being deceased and gone?

The golds of artists always shine brighter after time has passed, and after they have passed too.

Oh let the white break in to colour someday, please. I know it will, it must, because paths always lead somewhere.

Somewhere, somewhere, come here faster.

Somewhere, somewhere, I need to find you quicker.

Somewhere, somewhere, in the sky above the clouds, but where?

Somewhere, somewhere, beyond the universe, is that where?

Oh, I scream my soul out and my corpse falls to the ground like an autumn leaf, my voice yelling 'Finally! To you I was formed and to you I return, oh, my God!'

Oh mighty, oh distant but close!

Oh holy! Oh giver of the dose!

My ripped reds look an excitable pink and now I squeal like a girl. Balls of blue hit the concrete in joy and I look up at the sun my last words being "I can finally touch you!"

But is this burning, laughing, drowning or floating?

I am on another plain now, above you all, I am past you all.

Snowfall are merely angels that fall from the heavens in December to end the year and maybe end yours.

Count your lucky stars when that shooting star made your wish come true, better than that candle on your birthday cake ever could. Thank God you can finally release and let go. And transform, caterpillar, butterfly, transform!

Evolve.

∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎

ద ద 𖦊 ꪉ 𐀔 𐃸 ద 𖦊 ʊ

༒ ༒ ༒ ༒ . . ༒ . . ༒

༒ ༒ ᜊ ༒ ༒ ༒

༒ ༒ ༒

༒ ༒ ༒ . . ༒

༒ ༒ ༒ . . ༒

ద ༒

༒ . ༒

༒ . . ᰔ

༒

༒