Yes the talk can go on without direction for it directs it self. Path ahead is set by rules all against us. Does it make the difference if one fights the power, when legacy is marked by the majority? And who does benefit from thoughts like this?
Cape of summer parties and cocktail sunsets must be worn along with the smiling face of preferably as many as possible surrounding creatures that them selves bring forth such facial expressions. It helps to have the rhythm that shakes of reality. Be it notes on the sheet of paper turning pages of our lives or little feet taping on the green grass of home spilling morning coffee all over new fancy outfit. Just smile as the would is turning in it's tuning lies your fate, as each night will bring a sunrise and every raindrop must sparkle in the rainbow. The dreams come true or truth becomes reality while we dream.
Who ever brought poetic words in here? It's not suitable to have such thoughts and not live them. This must be a cry then without direction and with no purpose but to awake the newborn. Ah but the habit of everyday things of crucifying hearts sokes this rhythm hungry feet in pool of blood making the dance meaningless draining the power from our source. This is why we must not stand still but move towards forbidden choice. There lies a city where secrets are not of this world. It may not be the palace by the sandy beach shaded by the swinging palm trees and there may not be enough beat of waves splashing against our bodies lying in the beach soaking in heat of salted moist and cooled by ancient caressing breeze, spiced by whisper only lips of love can tell in stories that last so long. No, no, no it may all be in the gray old building by the noisy road and crazy neighbors with obligations piling on our backs pushing us down to crawl and never lift our heads to see the colors of the forbidden city. And night may fall before we begin to notice few branches of nearby trees that began to call us with spring blossoms. Tired from being crushed daily, bed becomes a friend in whose embrace we try to forget. Alas the new world is upon us.
Dare we dream the reality of our own liking?