Populist Elegance. William E. Scholz

to our past reincarnations,

      And finally step off the wheel of time,

      But first we must give up our roles,

      And we all need a fresh start.

      The Synchronicity Of Thought III

      We're sharing a mind,

      And all thoughts stored inside,

      The good, the bad, the ugly,

      And we have some ugly!

      Did you remember where you were on the 17th?

      I don't, but I do.

      Who thought it first?

      Impossible to know for sure,

      But we just know.

      We use descriptors for the vision impaired.

      Do you remember that one time?

      I remember before you do,

      And you don't seem to mind,

      But when it happens to me,

      I feel exposed, vulnerable, and afraid.

      You know all my secrets,

      The ones that you didn't want to know.

      But I want to see it all,

      And you don't seem to mind.

      We're nosy like that.

      Let's leave this world for the Infinite,

      Let our minds touch in outer space,

      Let's achieve something together,

      Let's reinvent the human race.

      We are everything but synchronized,

      We are out of time, our bodies,

      And horrifyingly out of our minds.

      We're just one breath away from scribbling on a wall somewhere.

      TaiChi Shogun Masters,

      Qabalah code crackers,

      Buddhist monks in the never found Temple,

      Arjuna, as one, hearing voices both mad and profound.

      "Effect without a cause

      Sub-atomic laws, scientific pause,

      Synchronicity."

      Gattuso

      You saw me dancing to your favorite song,

      And said, "Where do the wild roses grow?"

      Love, is a wicked game, is a ...

      Chance crossing off the beaten path,

      Is, literally, the best feeling in this world.

      I kiss him on the cheek,

      It’s all so fleeting,

      Like the memory of a half-ghost,

      Barely imperceptible,

      But constantly there.

      Where do they grow? The Wild Roses?

      They grow in my back yard,

      They grow on the corner of a Boulevard

      Of Broken Dreams,

      In places that you would least expect.

      They grow in the fields,

      Do you remember the fields?

      The infantrymen marched on those fields

      During wars and revolutions past.

      But they didn't wear Apple headphones.

      Those infantrymen and women

      Played no music before battle

      Besides the little drummer boy

      Or a winter hymnal sung

      Soft and sweet and broken.

      Her melody was like that,

      A melody that you'd hear before battle

      In your Apple headphones,

      In your mind's eye,

      In that voice telling you softly, one command is love.

      Its war or revolution they say,

      We'll all be on that battlefield soon,

      You can feel it in the winter's air,

      See the marchers just imperceptibly enough

      Through the fields of the past and tomorrow.

      But Baby, I'll be Moving Mountains for your Love.

      The Truth is that we're all that we got.

      Maddie

      Maddie, what will the world do to you?

      What will you become?

      Will you have the strength,

      To sew it all together?

      To do so, you must look in the mirror,

      And confront it all without guilt,

      Fear, and dishonesty. Truth.

      The Golden Needle,

      Is in your palms,

      You are a weaver,

      You are a girl, a woman, a Mother.

      Close your eyes,

      And put your finger to your Temple,

      What do you see?

      Do you see the threads of reality?

      What hangs by a thread?

      Who hangs by a thread?

      Go to him,

      Don't wait like I did.

      Love, is what we all hang by.

      You will see Love, Maddie,