A pattern in which your feet hit the ground
your conscious speaks through eyes inbound
a link between another sound,
a static moment I can’t put down.
As if our minds are only one,
Sub-outlet powered by the Sun
Amidst the days of laughter and fun
a giant ball of after-pun
Like karma from the skies
our aura emits many cries,
and we may raise up high
but karma lets us never fly.
I let the people take the land
and stand with high-raised glands in hand.
I silently shift the scene
the hand is made and seems serene.
It is not a dream
If seconds are relieved, then we boast the same team.
And overlooking you would be mean
So, like the same people, we’re on the same team.
Pointless random slander written aimlessly in junctions
It functions only in a good way if read through others’ eyes.
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