In the space that moves in our hearts
in the words that rule them
a fools language called love
sent to quell.
A heart is made in heaven
doused in the lustful flames of hell
In the dawn the morning star
in the night sky the sun
if you chose the right beat
we’d all be one!
but the drumbeat has a silence
and an off beat out of kilter vibe
The scribe is not a musician
but he is at least alive
the changing of the patterns
the flow of electrons
introspection of personality
the tonal chords of brains with clarity
We dance to words without reasons
we give chords bass and beats flow
the movements we know grow into routines
routines that we form and sow
We drift into daydreams
sing of far off lands we yet to visit
and we gather the images we envisage
We look for our dreams
and measure them in gold
and diamonds sold
yet they are our wealth even in cold
wintery days where love is the only language
it maybe a fools language
but that’s all we have
don’t let our innocence be nabbed.