Red, the white, and blue.

They can no longer sabotage us wasn’t because neighbours hear what the outer worlds do not,  but the inner voices of our perspective fears, hush don’t tell the lions nor the master of such a feast, our blood is the exception,  the debate, and trouble,  we are love, incited by noticing the difference of opinion. Had we not screamed at our little ones in separate occasions,  angered by the blasting of a word thrown in anger, temperaments of a young one getting older, I had weighed shoulders, the good always carry the bad, so I for one felt the world, as if it went on high legs, but needlessly designed a cross-legged bow, and a prayer that was heard by flowers in a garden being mowed,  soils turning as the eyebrows raised an alarming rate of Forgiveness,  not only for I but them.

Particularly the young woman in the adaptation of teen years, had not experienced this yet, that hatred and battered heartache,  but the growth of something bigger,  they all turn around in later years, seeking what they’d lost, those moments of time they knew, and missed. They grow up and get it, somehow they just do, maybe it’s guilt or the need to feel the family name, I couldn’t touch the old door for I once felt the same. Time collect the massive layout,  blueprint papers on old marquee singing  songs to remind you of home.

Is that it, home is a song on repeat,  turning in your head, bursting in the heart, never stops moves through the times alone, the busy streets and roads, we follow the dust, the light and often the ashes in the cigarette tray, only to remember the smell of fresh linen on the lines come spring.

The days we move through long grass or climb fresh dug dirt, all hard on the calves, but good for the sole, if you have a heart then the soul is bright,  so many just want to darken the light. So we collect candles  incense  and spread joy and love, hidden behind screens, masks, and makeshift shields, or armour only to realize only one god knows the journey,  the truth, and to disclose the value of what the pressure can do, to the line, the blood and the family of familiarity,  the existing system we tend to break, theaten, or Knott,  only the cold can simplify the weather from being hot, and I guess the seasons always change, no matter how hard it gets we must endure before we rest.

After the rain falls the smell is clear, clean and crisp,  nothing like the hot roads patterns of water, and the gush of fresh turf sentiments weaving past the nose. Breaking the smell of tobacco papers, the chopped leaves and the old moment you crunched up a gum leave,  just to recall the land .
you never really grasp your age, like eighteen mimics numerous hours as you cling to something that made you feel as though you were an adult,  but rather find the trouble is wishing the responsibility of our lives to ease a little so we can live, love and venture outside of the normality of another.
Confine not by walls and expectations of them but the values of a place we’ve never been, to a castle or kingdom,  the walls of distance,  we cannot see, or those we claim our own,  maybe it’s the posters we bring, or calender marks as we cross off our own exceptions in life,  in order to live beyond close doors and find those opportunities we could or would or should of Had, the sad part is we never seem to grasp the facts of aging,  it priceless yet in ways we tend to be rich with the loyalties of love, and the values of youth the expectations of knowledge accustomed to design and desire,  only to ask ourselves if it’s important to feel rely or play with fire

he heart burns multiple avenues, corners and paths or perhaps the walking waves of the seasons by seaside allow the salt tears to dwell in not only the eyes,  but the pits of our deepest sense of being, we cannot cry without pain, love or the existence of both, and paths breathe calmly until we break them down into tiny pieces of dust,  when we again inhale the cigarette,  flick the lighter, burn the wick and pray eagerly waiting for the world to be a brave and loving place to call home, in the garden where we played leep frog, hopscotch and tiptoes only on the pavement with chalk,  whilst another draws lines around the dead, and ghosts haunted the jails on the streets of solace,  for the red the white,  whilst the police wore blue.

How might love conquer or claim another as a prize,  we aren't to win, but ort to hold another as we rise, isn't that the truth of love , we hold each other down from drifting away,  and we raise them up to stronger grounds,  together we should stay.
I guess love has it's strength and compassion that neither anger or hate could bend, it's more a hope and loving act that saves us in the end.

If I could tell you I miss you, I would not say a word,  maybe the old ways could offer...this message from a bird, tuck the note to foot n fly...to open and to read, a gentle reminder that love ant captive, but Moreso it is freed upon the wings of  a single  dove, and all it is , is for our peace a deliberation that love won't cease.

I did the hardest thing in sorrow and cried out for my right, she was beauty and I followed her, but she’s always been the light.

I get love! You are the value .  That simplifies hope,
you cannot be Miss understood , you've given me more questions and answers than any other feeling could. Love will battle any grounds were boundaries are placed before our heart's , and in life define  it's shelter where the pain and healing starts, love its self holds no accommodation for the bitterness of an end, it moves on in a solace, sadness,  though often as a friend.
Love Has to create before it becomes complete and even then it contains the ability to transform and grow , or claim defeat,  and love I guess is the antidote to the lonely nights awake, we travel heart to heart, an soul, for love is the role we play, over and over again in life, from mother father and of child,  the ways we love, and suffer,  to the ways we take, or run as wild, it's not just the circle of love in our doating part, it's the value of each single person,  and their place within our hearts.

There’s  a quality in life to forgive one's  grievance we  tend to hold on to the things that last,  as we adapt to new positions that heal the wounded one's of past.  It's not as simple as just letting go in order for us to define, because we loved and as we love, all moments come to then remind, they remind us because were strong,  strong enough to push on through,  and as I'm writing this to self, I'm also writing this to you. Pain won't come to claim you weak, you need not look that way, it comes to truth, and true it is that you are still here today.