More than Words !

the spring calls her beloved, wake up now... turn down the furnace of grief be gentle and walk around when daffodils sing enjoy the dance of birds do nothing at once do nothing at all just be the moment the observer observed in that observance be steady enough, to hear the soundless calls of love do not cling to ego be not bounded to sight see from within the true beauty beyond thy eyes the spring calls her beloved, wake up now...

This is subjective. Miraculous.  Only true if you can really see through the vile.  If that is so, move along. Or else thy shall return.  To your objective circle. An easy way out from here.  That is particularly where you choose to belong.    But this is for the risk takers. Mad painters.  Outspoken poets. Riddlers. Thinkers. Explorers.  Writers. Magicians. Seekers. Occasionally- artistic gods in human forms. The futurist,  the melancholic destroyer of thoughts, the hedonist.  The archaic, the high humpback whales,  the atomic tingles. The surreal.  This is for those who don't belong. Not here or anywhere.  This is for those who find youniquenss in the complex  dictionary of thought and realty. To those who alter genes.  To those who change and merge. Blend and reoccur.  This is for those who came with no manuals written. This is for those who believe in the gene matching smell  of the lovers kiss, which feels like the transce