What if, every dollar, was a soul. Captured and certified in ink, on paper. A birth certificate we never received, welcoming us to reality.
What if I knew that only god could judge me. Not even myself could judge me.
When you compartmentalize it, like gravity on my different joints, a barometer, I pop, releasing fluid as oil to my bones.
Pushed some way by the invisible force subjecting me, making me its student, I learn about it. Gravity affects me differently over periods of time, and things on my mind.
Shh. It’s time to be quiet, and synthesize my voice, mind’s eye, swirling free like a cluster of stars, a galaxy in your backyard, just look up, down, any which way.
Suite yourself, make it personal, and remember dollars earned don’t signify the amount of truth you spread. Not your truth, but the truth. This thing we can not unlearn about, and learn how to look away from.
We get lost, and bargain with ourselves cursing and creaking through time.
Life. Start codons. Stop codons. Decay. Eternal. What is to remember, for the pedant of a different kind.
Loose limbs forecasted for the future, because aches wane and things get better. Jaunty jeers jab, unjustly. Fear is kin of misunderstanding. Because nothing is to fear when we remember the truth, an anomalous amalgamation of all things real. Hot, and cold. Liquids, and ice.
Behold my hope, for lofting you, I will. Above the calamity and chatter, we cheer together, because on the horizon we see something great. A unity of things, when once was jumbled.
But remember, to sometimes pay for the time to see into the minds of others. Let them lead you to their truths, and measure them against yours. Weighed out, like letters on a scale, stamp your acceptance and remember your reverence. Reverence to the other, no matter what truths they hold certain. Because the truth, is there, and theirs’, too.