Please imagine an electrical storm in the distance.
  Just then you blink,
  But your eyes will not open child,
  And consciousness  steals the limelight,
  Your eyes, dear child,
  They can finally see without being open to the lies of the world.
From the storm your eyes seemingly illuminate your heart’s honesty, although ..it’s been honest since it gave you animation of life.
  Naught a spark  in the mind in a literal sense, but lightning strikes rattle your imagination..you’re in......
  Deeper now, deeper then ever before, now listen close to me or risk losing your fuckin mind,
  Sit back let me paint your serenity, my dear, using nothing but my words.

  A burning Forrest of figurative genius, resting at the finger tips of a child incapable of searching the depths of worlds forgotten and suppressed sits across from you.
  A word dare not be uttered from your lips while your anxious mind causes your eyes to flick from sight to sight until you look at this boys eyes... he’s captured fire in them and as your mouth opens to utter your question the boys roars as if he were a lion and you are sucked from your chair and eaten alive....
  As an old school projected flicks on powered by a faceless being the gentle clicks of the film sooth your thumping heart and then upon the wall you see the film of memory begin.....

A monster once caged in flames,
   all sides dancing in line,
   knocked loose by the birch tree in  
   flames,
    She prowls once again,
He claws against wood,
    Her only wish?

To speak.
To verbalize the worlds you’ve created
To utter your silence and stop the torment.

His claws do little more then a tooth  
   brush on bare skin now, after the  
   way you have beaten and abused the
   poor thing.
This is a monster?
How can it be when it cannot harm you or even me?
It holds no more power over your  
   mind,
But yes, it was once a monster, grotesque and unstoppable wearing darkest thought as its cloak and dagger.

Even when the flames have all but
   survived and she wanders unchecked  
   through the boundaries of the very  
   soul itself,
   he creates no harm.
The soft tones from your love drift in  
   and tame the beast so she needs no    
   cage, so your cage of flames has  
   been now become a novelty ... So why
   let it remain?
She is but a tadpole like creature now, the monster.

Free again,
You are. . .
To pick the berries from the woods of  
   free thought. . .
   while Macbeth, though free of his  
   cage of bone, lies dead from
   harmonies of love..
The mind of a person is calmed by  
   love when it’s given just a small
   amount of music.
This is your mind you’re exploring
   above, make sure you remember.
The sweet innocence of a forgotten
   child closest to the beast to try
   to free it so you may confront the
   supremacy that is She and He. . .
    is killed by your aged fire.
Your adult like mentality has  
   murdered that purest soul.

  Don’t let this world kill your child like
ignorance, your child like wonder, your child like curiosity, your child like bravery, and your childish ignorance of hope, against any odds.

But now i will let you open your eyes
   for the picture my mouth is about
   to shape for you should not be
  allowed to infest your soul.

Let us begin then, Soul Warrior,

Let us start spewing the venom of
   my own mind upon
   the wretched, civilized people of
   this self destructive, insane, and
   shackled society.

Well it is as buddy would put it “a
   tricky dichotomy to deal wit”,

Yet it is an assortment of absolute
   truths, diluted with flattering lies,
   so the good in me doesn’t
   suffocate under the pressure of  
   worlds I never exposed, not even to myself.
  Some can let their beast out,
  Some can hold theirs in...
  And I am mine...

As the birch tree has been allowed to
   grow in them and let theirs out, or  
   fall on top of the sturdy bars further
   trapping the insatiable beast...

My mind differs. . .
Mine lacks the metaphorical birch tree,
It also is devoid of the entrancing wall of flames.
My beast is as open and free as the lightning pounding the ground,
My beast is me.
Nothing for me to let out,
   but only small signs I’ve learned to  
   read to shelter people others.

If you are confused or befuddled by
   my nonsensical ranting then
   maybe this will help untangle the
   mess my tongue, the snake, has
   coiled you up in.
The worlds I refer to are verbal collections of intelligent communication  our species is falling victim too.

For sentences build upon words most  
   convoluted.. express the world of,
   purest, darkest, deepest. . .
   imagination.
The beasts I speak to you about are
   the emotions hidden,
   under our skin,
   cleverly, but more so deceptively. . .
   disguised.

—The people who hide them best wear false beasts upon their sleeve to help others let their true feelings out. If you still do not understand me then bless you, dearest child, for I have nothing to teach you. You are not of my kin.—

  Not understanding this expression of deepest mind. . .
  This and this alone makes you blessed.
  You may yet be the hope the human condition so desperately requires.