The ideal love for perfection,
and the wait that never seems to end.
The concept of dumb genius-ness,
waiting for noone but itself to bend.

The mind that forever felt unbeatable,
with a loss, a lesson, at every small win.
The physical existence that had obvious limits,
with dreams ending even before they could begin.


13-09-09, kgp

To Gee, to me, and to the she


Of rivers fighting separating, still merging into the sea.
Of chords following the hand, not the other way around that may be.
Of colors calling each other, flowing mixing on just a blink of the eye.
Of confessions to the beautiful crime, no matter what the try, the deny.

To the rules that might finally win, proving its all a lie.
To the ideas that just wont die, no matter what the why.
To the loops, to the breaks, and to the recursion that could be we.
To Gee, to me, and to the ideated image that could be she.




kgp, 03-09-2009, 6am