how much my eyes could see

their dirty lies

unmistakable thoughts

wrong doings

Unfair treatments

Undeniable madness

over useless and nonsensical things

And how they take advantage of

and look down on my

weaknesses and kindness

towards them

They'd be afraid

Because it's what they try

so hard to hide

But they can't

because it's written

all over their face

They'd be afraid

because they'd know

that I could leave them

anytime.

Once upon a time, the Phoenix soared high through the sky, flapping its fiery wings with passion undying, dying to keep merging with and emanating more and more pure-energy-of-life, crying with fervent glee appreciating the everlasting, eternal opportunity to dine with grace and motivation divine.

Then, spontaneously, the Phoenix's fire died, and seemingly its life, as well, and so its loved ones fell into emotional hell over despair of the dear departed one who inspired them to share the same fiery love for Fire and (the) Sun. But just as this perceived emotional hell had begun, the Phoenix's expended ashes erupted with a beam of one blinding golden-passion-energy that temporarily prevented these beings from seeing lucidly the seemingly miracle reality of what was happening so abruptly and triumphantly and relatively instantly.

(The) Sun was immediately back with nothing except the same-wild-flame bliss as before, the same mysterious yet intimately familiar Force that these lovers of the Phoenix did adore. Then, the resurrected Phoenix inspired the people to both believe and see that they all, too, were themselves nothing but the Phoenix, and had only forgotten that they, too, are that passion undying, dying to keep merging with and emanating more and more pure-energy-of-life, crying with fervent glee appreciating the everlasting, eternal opportunity to dine with grace and motivation divine.

And so, thus ensued, a renewed perspective and gratitude for the respective altitude of the prospective aptitude from these prospects' attitude to see the latitude of their gratitude for the Phoenix's rise and return, and so they conspired to learn never to repress the authentic urge, the relentless urgency, to BE the Phoenix and rise again and again and again for all Eternity.

The End (or so it would seem)

Playing in the water like an otter. I must ponder. What is yonder the pond of this playful song that I'm saying not long but short. This is Colbert Report. That sort. Inclined to flirt with life in spite of what contradicts light and love. The Above is channeling the Below and you now must know that this otter soul is driving while rhyming in stagnant Seattle traffic. Not frantic. Just prancing dancing laughing clapping and having a real good time with writing these lines and minding everyone's business to merge with isness and absolutely savor existence. Hint-hint...

Moonlight sounds like your deepest desires. Your wishes of hot coco and a good book. The sight of snow flakes falling, one by one. Moonlight sounds like a small waterfall that reflects every bit of the moon's beauty into your eyes. Moonlight sounds like the oven timer going off signaling that the cookies are done baking. Moonlight is its own symphony of thoughts and noises that all rap up into one, single, pale white beam of light. A beam that screams out in a high C# "dream."