RMC

Above love is of dove from a sky spry,
the dirt must love what you dig and supply.

In the fertile soil there is turmoil
that would cause the deepest well to boil.

Here there is near the flames I call hell,
I find a home I call it well to compell.

Air I reach for every day in my anguish
but I will say I love you in any language.

I can not not say too much touch
keeps my sensors overdriven by much.

I reach for the sunlight bring in spite
and I’ll bite it out of me despite.

Forlorn in the scorn is born
all else that I find in my mind torn.

Above a dove above of spry he asked why
and I’m not going to look in his face and lie.

The ground I found a down quick hit,
my bones aches I walk funny I sit affixed.

To this crucifix thats on my arm no harm
just everyday I say my God oh I feel alarm.

That I dig deep for what’s above and love
the sounds that people describe I hide a need a dove.

To supply the lies of the blue sky it’s allright,
I’ll take a quick trip of what I delight.

Back down to the subtly the actuality
of facts ought to be seen.