In a bassline, one persistent drumming. Such excessive skies. I wander an island, peering into mystery. It was always sparrows and the phoenix. At it; multiple moons; chaotic soundness. We never understand. Sore debates. Trying to do self, one last favor. In believing to know what life is. Those with science; those with religion: those with both: an instant to alter earth, one conundrum. In all of what means existence, so far away from self, so many mongooses, an equal number of cobras. Time reveals its whispers; breath is ritualized—one famous baptism. I wander an island, peering into esoteria: a masterful aching. And those cries, by seismic eyes. Too much makes souls tired—tyrannical waves, music repetition, one water lily. It requires something outstanding, if but to keep perspective, an ancient gem. In an echo, to surrender to life, so gruesome each feather, such plucking, still swimming, trying to make it to mystery. One lyric, one lute, one piccolo. In it all, it was meant to move gravity, to analyze a falling apple. Such blazing physics—so meta, by tragic rites, facing repetition. Design of a given light. Such travesty in its chase. Stars pacing in place. Sunshine running wildly. Such promiscuous clouds. Spirit of life; rapacious lines. Having arts, jazzy motion, to feel in one breath, emotion.
