red blood forms black ideas upon white paper,
abstract ideas collide to portray innocent speech,
mind moves matter through deep vision,
matter possesses soul, experience, I pray you teach,
Oh, were it so that each could feel the other's pain,
and then be moved themselves in turn,
these words they are born deep within,
to share with and move another we all yearn,
to know that blackest night contains another,
to know that in the storm we are not alone;
such despair is felt by the unmatched soul,
pain, marked only by the occasional groan,
so from this despair we strive to keep,
in the cuffs of bondage another's heart,
for a dry man's thirst is oft quenched,
by mere knowledge that he and water are not far apart,
for those who choose to walk the road alone,
consolation is derived only at dusty rest stops,
yet dusty they are not to such a creature,
to him they are as fertile as August's crops,
so to find a soul who walks free but may not stray,
is to the parched, truly a wonderful thing,
and to that spirit, love is the atmosphere,
always present, to it life must cling,
so as blood stains this paper, red turns to black,
thoughts and visions held not by time but words,
in this the loneliest soul can find true love,
and with this gift, fly free with the birds.
- Spike Satori
