The Prodigal Child - Springtime

Rebellion, Recklessness, Realization, Repentance, Restoration
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Springtime
My love is but a name. But a name on a field of incandescant white. A field of incandescant white itself alone in grey. In grey so like myself. Like myself my love waits. My love waits for me to take my breath. To take my breath and to twitch. To twitch and to begin. To begin the dance of names. The dance of names itself a joust. A joust so calm and muted. So calm and muted to desguise my fear. My fear of my love. My love is but a name. My love is but a name. But a name on the lips and on the mind. On the lips and on the mind and on the brink. On the brink of nothing. Nothing spanning forever. Spanning forever into rigid limits. Into rigid limits imposed to not be changed. To not be changed, the challenge. The challenge of all like me. All like me the paupers and fools. The paupers and fools in love. In love with maids of flesh and blood. With maids of flesh and blood... but my love. My love is but a name.

Springtime

My love is but a name.
But a name on a field of incandescant white.
A field of incandescant white itself alone in grey.
In grey so like myself.
Like myself my love waits.
My love waits for me to take my breath.
To take my breath and to twitch.
To twitch and to begin.
To begin the dance of names.
The dance of names itself a joust.
A joust so calm and muted.
So calm and muted to desguise my fear.
My fear of my love.
My love is but a name.

My love is but a name.
But a name on the lips and on the mind.
On the lips and on the mind and on the brink.
On the brink of nothing.
Nothing spanning forever.
Spanning forever into rigid limits.
Into rigid limits imposed to not be changed.
To not be changed, the challenge.
The challenge of all like me.
All like me the paupers and fools.
The paupers and fools in love.
In love with maids of flesh and blood.
With maids of flesh and blood... but my love.
My love is but a name.