Back right up

I pick up the pen from the graveyard, I stand infront of the army with the pen as my guard, the ink as the light, the burning passion as my guide, but still breathing and listening to the sound of the universe, slowly as the flower unfurls, the preschool girl dances and twirls, from the scientist to the pothead, just struggling to look for a new consciousness, sometimes I sit and let the smoke drift from my lips, and I stop and think, where time is not present, clock freezes this moment, something we can enjoy, a beautiful peace, like a painting, only with detachment we can enjoy, the life we weren't meant to destroy, a golden boy sitting infront of the stage with a toy, peace, peace, he screams before the deceased, but the dead and the living have no peace, they try to find the broken pieces, but I stand right up to God and say that I am yours for the taking, life will only reveal itself if you will