Oliver Stride

Matter of hands on the go for some fantastic plan that is phases, over and on with the grind of your
placement, fruitful by old restitution from big tribulations and new proclamations of story by fold.
Over the magic fold up like old memories locked in a box, winking from out of the corner to bring you what solely resides in the fresh of your skin, brink of your bones of the maker within. Steep on the face of a dangerous season and tangled in perfection's order we glide over days without haste and go evenly strung by each moment and mark.
Simply connected by no less than magical means from believing, utterly born by the voice of old purpose, kindred are roots in the meaning's foundation and happily pulse in the choice of achievement

Long After Wartime

Age old desire is burning in time with the healer inside me. A devious dream growing wild at the mouth of inception, the gentrified masses' maniacal brood. Aptitude breaking down walls like a therapy Dinner-Time-Sunday, famishing families who fast from their feasting at once with no question. But free us from fortunes and carry us unified up through the genocide long after wartime to breathe into bodies who will not go quietly, only triumphantly sworn by their wounds a reward to sing truthfully, Free us as surely the order of cosmic perfection is whispering blatantly proud and forthright in it's subtlety humbly imploring the simple solution but nil is our nature to close with a smile. Free of all reason we forge on in tragedy, shaking the graves of who only too late came to know of the story preceding our fate.......

The Slow Feast

Any semblance of waking life in you to push?
Damned by grave hands if the will is not strung?
Maybe a playground is in you to find
with a hide and go seek orient of the mind?
Chance there is hunger way deep in the billows
your tummy will nudge you in sleep under pillows?
Worthless adventure it runs away home in retreat for the answer that sinks to the bone.
Grace by the side of all struggle and test.
Beats like reprising the heart in your chest.
Greater by means if the fall of the land is the slow feast of fascists in crooked demand.
Home is the base of all strength and all fear
and we meet it so sparingly drug out through treacherous paces and pulls at the stomach of sacrifice holding up greatly successors of edifice, brutal and brave we are one every minute if only we sung like the breeze when we're in it.

Lift Up A Smile

And it shook every stride on the tips of my toes there is movement in waiting and haste as it goes. Making whole with the past for a distant relief when I foreclose on fear and go dance a new leaf. Lift up a smile surrender's at hand to the light and the call to the song's reprimand. It's near and it's laughing with eager surprise all aglow with excitement like 5 year old eyes. Hearts giving way at the top of the stars like the great revolution of Saturn and Mars where the fiendish and wise will go drum up a scheme for the dreams of our children asleep on the beam.
Be far and be gone all but just within reach keeping close in our heads to the hands we will teach.
Sanity rides on that time of the day when you dream with eyes open and nothing to say

A Marvel Design

Fall back in line as you placate the standard who wishes you time lapsing efforts.
Hold out as long as that wind every Autumn that tells an old story and keeps you so humbled.
Never as loosely as when you found Summer and held up your vices on high for the whole town to come behold excess in all it's great fortune but witness no mornings with grueling recovery.
Never so strong as to dig up the courage to bloom unrelenting as true as the day you were born into surely what deems to be beauty all latent and screwed by the size of it's riddle.
Rise up and burst for the sake of the onslaught. Scurry and Strike for the lives of the blighted and gleam like a runway that welcomes all worrisome lives in the tangled retract of our choices.

Oh but the mystery hangs on us willfully, strangely what steers a divine obligation.
Each of us tied to the other with selfless and raw unawareness a marvel design.

Poetry Anatomical

Time like a treasure is wound up and whistles a happy go likely old tune that is true.
Send out the signal and wait for the symptoms of gratitude calling out deep in the blue.
Brash and aberrant the play of our dawn is an old mechanism that grows you a home.
Sickness envelopes the nimble repressive destroyers of vision and breaks every bone.

Ventricle winters inspire untraceable blessings and nearing the pulse of dismay
we gather up bits of the aftermath happily heir to the semblance of carried away.
Seize the emphatic desire to grow every drop every trace every sun every moon.
Drowsy blue head scratching morn on the porch over mountains of make believe speaking too soon.

Rightfully hopeful unjustified speakers can dance through the planet with blindfolded hands
or shake up the nation one dream at a time like a mystical army where atrophy stands.
Build it back up little toddler of chance we can purify death by the time we reach birth.
Woken by angels and soldiers each branded with certified stamps on the state of the Earth.

hymns on the grave

shaken like storms in the core of the almighty plan we are singing out loosely like hymns on the grave where the ageless go tally up sums of the day to exonerate forces that stretch out for miles and retrieve that old burden that keeps us in shape for the future to come is a light house on land
If we drum up the friction that lubricates life we may draw from the wreckage or sink in the sand