i like to call a fee for living,

or how words get scrambled

to make a piece look alluring.

dirt gets reframed as a unique blemish,

a marker for the gifted

and thus counts not as a crack

in smooth marble

because trees aspire to reach the sun,

too close they get burned, like icarus

but most do not venture that high

for the hurricanes, the typhoons, the clouds

themselves would break such endeavors.

try branches do, to rise against the heavens

to find that warmth, never realizing that

too much heat becomes fire, becomes death,

such a concept is not cognitively known,

awareness brims beneath the surface

unable to find air, oxygen, truth

finding contentment, laziness, hedonism

finds the entry doorway filled with cheerleaders

eager to boost team morale,

a ghostly smile, a lost soul, a cracked jar

smashes – still the crowd hears, sees

what is to be believed, and what is to be believed?

is it not more heat, more warmth, glory even

to rise higher … … words scrambled, emotions played

to cause glitter, shine, a surface untouched by dirt

when belief becomes the means to an end.

heaven to be found within a story,

and i found myself brushing hands

with the devil who looked like a saint.

it is hard to tell these days, who goes by what,

i am dazzled by the influx of data,

words scrambling and a ghostly hands reaches out,

aye, aye

i felt a shudder in my soul.

do you hear, see, feel?

then even that image was taken from me,

the veils parted, closed again

with the sun bearing immense heat

on earth wanting to union with a god.