Sit my soul on the sun.
I was made to find my path on streets of gold.
Leaving a lasting impression on each and every one.
I breathe and I inhale the sunset, tasting its color sweet on my lips.
I watch her roam and move through our happy home, thanking him for my most previous gift.
And then I pause sometimes wishing for a do over for something that happened the other day.
Snapped in my mind, then I knew that bad was the other way.
Then I chilled. Like crushed ice wearing shades looking cool to saxophone whales.
I chilled. Like sudden November days with weather acting all kinds of ways.
Then I asked myself. I made myself process what it all means.
This poem I'm writing, this life, and the fruition of my dreams.
By nature I ponder complex answers that evolve from thought process never ending.
Then it hits me, I know what this is. So I need to stop pretending.