I don’t wish to be a wanderer but maybe fate has written this as my destiny. To know its taste but only be able to take sips from love’s stream.
The way you and I dance over bottles of wine plants the thought of forever in my mind.
I Prayed for a path from the bottom to the top of the mountain, but unaware of how to interpret the answers to prayer. God I’m calling, do you hear me?
Who’s to say what perfection is, what if our perception of life is the complete opposite to that of its architect?
We escape into pocket of time created for only you and I, what we do will remain in our memories and replayed only when we’re back in those pockets of time.
I’m a hypocrite hiding from the same thing that i seek. In loves pursuit, I’m my own enemy that keeps me from it.
Running from the pain of the world wishing for peace when what haunts us most is ourselves, and the questions we leave unanswered my self haunting.
Love’s faucet drips as it’s sources dry, blocked by modern logs of insecurity and reason, hearts congested out of fear to connect.
To remember fading the ecstasy of a passion combined with beauty, is it better to have never had it, or to have and then lost it completely.