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All aboard the red thread push
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Do not question the contents,
or the road on which we walk,
The celestial vision, or the exuberant talk.
Language to the universe,
Speaking the actions,
dying for words of uninterrupted distractions.
Overlooking the minds functions,
straight to the point, the road on which we travel,
leads to pursue and shows us the view....
to which our infancy already knew,
instinctive knowledge, vast and askew,
soon they departed.
It was inspired, this red thread,
which lead.....
Us to vicious praise,
leaving behind the essence,
of negatively charged days.
Pushing it we shall obtain,
what once did remain,
hearing child like happiness of the same,
only now shall we comprehend and begin to name.
This luminous wonder, wills me to bow,
only to be taught, what was once known and how.
The innocence is so pure, and it is the connections we learn,
as we grow it is the intellect that results in the burn.... the loss.
My brothers fight the feeling, too scared to let it go,
if they would just allow the fear to encapsulate,
instead of hide and as a result, forcefully defenestrate.
My love grows more, and the more I endure, the more love spawns,
and the more I endure, the more my heart expands and my love turns pure.
Atom upon atom, I place my soul in a precise point in time,
spinning the positive, while directing my mind.
Weary to avoid and observe, only the effects I can view and curve.
My heart imprints its mark, and as you try and catch your breath,
your eyes open offering thanks, to the sub mental death....
...and your trans celestial birth.
Your free to be, who ever you see.
And when I help you to the mirror, keep in your soul that it wasn't me.
Give thanks for you, its you; and you live only for you, because you and only you will ever have the will to will it to.
Your decisions are in your hands, not the hands of any other deity or man,
put that in your pipe and understand you control, and hold the upper hand.
Live at your will, and do not blame the circumstance, or chance.
React with that, only never to look back.
The red thread was merely a tool,
you made the push, you made the fool.
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