STAR WARS {Luke vs Darth Vader or a son speaking in astrological terms to his father about not listening}
Stars collide, mars red, red family blood ties tides.
The force abides, and the strides strong.
"the lineage long, long in you I see," green man, green wrinkled bald man speaks.
He speaks backwards in time, in rhyme and soliloquy,
planets rotate on an axis with speed, planets axis speed
comets access moons; and intergalactic galaxies relate in a solar constellation of monsoons on this occasion.
Sons and fathers, teachers and students; lessons learned through frustrations.
To a father the child is but an observation, manifestation of his decisions and
a product of his creations. A mirror of celestial imaginations.
To the son the father is a kaleidoscope of information.
Through his scope he sees an abundance of paternal miscalculations.
Stardust twinkles inside black holes saturations, philosophies sprinkled from that believed and things told spring consternations, intricately space continuum's unfurl such estimations are not
approximate for the child to have faith in daddy’s formulaic equations.
He seeks to see, that to which the father speaks, but his mind sees fallacies in the holes of his father’s speech, his father's peaks, so he does not climb that which cannot be reached but does unfold-- as time falls over parallel universes of silver versus gold.
So as the two grow, one grows wise and they both grow old.
Metallic-precious metals, the essence of value to which nobody knows.
Some run away from materialism. Some sell their time and soul.
No air in the dark for a breathless soul to air out clout grievances of ether among the Grim Reapers’ nautical shoals.
Politics or religion?
Our position is that we hold. Feathers do not flock but seem more to fold.
When can we meet on the same page and not repeat the same story told?
There is room in the sky for us to look down on the clouds below.
Let kindness be our light, to share in smiles, the things we know.
Like the stars in space, Milky Way and galaxies.
You are the mirror of my face, atoms and perplexities.
But the truth of the matter is not so complex to see
That the root of the problem is that you simply do not listen to me.
Dead air to infinity, no sound, no gravity, no dual mutuality of respect
Because you are so high in the epitome…..
of course, on coarse you were the conception of the source of time for me;
Cradled my civilization, my holy grail in a world of blasphemy you were my eyes, but
Tomorrow is yesterday and married to hello like goodbye.
Soon there won’t be time for you to know me, for every twinkling star dies.
Greetings from the past to the future of old, they sigh like a hue.
With shades of disagreements, red for anger, coldness in blue,
Patterns overlap the two to divide us in a gravitational pull.
But none so strong to break the bond
of that love that I have for you.
Stars collide, mars red, red family blood ties tides.
The force abides, and the strides strong.
"the lineage long, long in you I see," green man, green wrinkled bald man speaks.
He speaks backwards in time, in rhyme and soliloquy,
planets rotate on an axis with speed, planets axis speed
comets access moons; and intergalactic galaxies relate in a solar constellation of monsoons on this occasion.
Sons and fathers, teachers and students; lessons learned through frustrations.
To a father the child is but an observation, manifestation of his decisions and
a product of his creations. A mirror of celestial imaginations.
To the son the father is a kaleidoscope of information.
Through his scope he sees an abundance of paternal miscalculations.
Stardust twinkles inside black holes saturations, philosophies sprinkled from that believed and things told spring consternations, intricately space continuum's unfurl such estimations are not
approximate for the child to have faith in daddy’s formulaic equations.
He seeks to see, that to which the father speaks, but his mind sees fallacies in the holes of his father’s speech, his father's peaks, so he does not climb that which cannot be reached but does unfold-- as time falls over parallel universes of silver versus gold.
So as the two grow, one grows wise and they both grow old.
Metallic-precious metals, the essence of value to which nobody knows.
Some run away from materialism. Some sell their time and soul.
No air in the dark for a breathless soul to air out clout grievances of ether among the Grim Reapers’ nautical shoals.
Politics or religion?
Our position is that we hold. Feathers do not flock but seem more to fold.
When can we meet on the same page and not repeat the same story told?
There is room in the sky for us to look down on the clouds below.
Let kindness be our light, to share in smiles, the things we know.
Like the stars in space, Milky Way and galaxies.
You are the mirror of my face, atoms and perplexities.
But the truth of the matter is not so complex to see
That the root of the problem is that you simply do not listen to me.
Dead air to infinity, no sound, no gravity, no dual mutuality of respect
Because you are so high in the epitome…..
of course, on coarse you were the conception of the source of time for me;
Cradled my civilization, my holy grail in a world of blasphemy you were my eyes, but
Tomorrow is yesterday and married to hello like goodbye.
Soon there won’t be time for you to know me, for every twinkling star dies.
Greetings from the past to the future of old, they sigh like a hue.
With shades of disagreements, red for anger, coldness in blue,
Patterns overlap the two to divide us in a gravitational pull.
But none so strong to break the bond
of that love that I have for you.
