the root of all good

honestly, it does not exist - this thing called goodness how can it? already the plaster falls off concrete, wormwood festers within a gloom, a forbidding a caste away. and the skin always appears intact, cosmetics, fragrance, what have you like dust brewing in a sand storm they do not settle seethe unfulfilled searching never finding, what have you? clinging on to golden dust worshipping appearance and a prod, a poke, an inquiry distasteful - don't judge me! a replay of events of loops going in what seems to be circles try again, and again. frowns, tears, weepings a stranger reshapes, rethinks, recaste it is like a burning, taking away of those treasured toys - amusing, uneventful decaying with the onslaught of time. tsk tsk brings back a play book turned inside out as a wry smile burst into joy - a subtle shake of the head breaks into tears when one reforms, changes, transforms of hidden coves, boxes not branded goods and strangely like a stranger whose name has become more vibrant alive lively with the passage of time, her face becomes the colors of the rainbow, no souring, just fondness - of silver linings caught in the heart while the thunder, lightning splits the skin. coves, boxes intact, safe with the p a s s a g e o f t i m e and the uncomprehensible takes wings skin is dust a stranger prods, a stranger shapes - no cool aid and yet i've never regretted this moment: who art thou? and a fair maiden blinks: i love you, don't you know? then tears welled up when my heart began to beat for the first time.