Life in Between

She buried her sweet body outside the context of time,
And like a necrophiliac you hunt the tongue of this rhyme,
You’ve just got to know everything you believe, You will raise her from the
dead or go to her grave and grieve.
Dusting your memories and telling them what to mean,
Losing the sermon of the life in between.
Oxygenated warm blood swims thickly thru the veins,
Hopeless spring; summer’s carriage and the winter still remains,
Your foot falls on the dreams footprints to the kingdom hall,
But it’s a psychosomatic itch; dream and all.
It takes vision to really paint a proper scene,
Or you’ll leave out the chronic detail of the life in between.
The toil and the trouble run deeper than the wells of midnight,
You feel like a negative print undone by the light, All the focused motion of
the world; just a politic of confusion,
So you shadow-paint the real and wonder the illusion.
And your bottomless being brought to the surface by the rush of caffeine,
Fumbles thru a living void of the life in between.
Her sweet body; to hold with all the definition of a dream,
Sleeping and dying thru the life in between.