Everyday falls a single spec, lint by lint it gets closest to its denial.
For if it gets closer the more it is flourished day by day, evening by sunrise.
Each act seems like a living lie, for one knows its not true, not at all as it falls,
a single spec lint by lint it,
gets closer to its destiny.
For if it gets closer it will be a miracle worker in itself,
for it gives great knowledge,
and guides through the periods in life that are not so easy to comprehend.
For so close that only the most sorrowful sleeping soul could feel its beautiful touch,
only the most sorrowful spirit in the lords galaxy could feel such a soaring wakening,
as his could feel if that he is upon thou lord.
For he becomes guilty being that only comes upon,
at times of sadness and pain.
Crashing down goes his spirit, down the drain it flows as if it was a single
raisin in the sun shallow and tense, scorching underneath its warmth.
Frolicking dust specks waltzing from place to place in search for shelter.
No where to go frightened of lectures and critical beings afraid
of what they would say about them,
than what theyd think of themselves.
If this is not a lecture it shall be a lesson in which one speaks of another or has in its thought.
Thinks of a being that has a living body with no soul nor spirit.