Bullet

It all started with a bullet, yo.

Like beads of milk and honey on warm crisp bread;

Like the salt of time dried tears on sun bathed skin;

Like the songs of treasures colliding; coins of silver and gold against stones of crystal and gem.

Like the breath of roses carried by the coolness of the breeze in a dry, barren land.

Like a liquid sky; vibrant like blood, fire, ice, and the robes of purple majesties; all upon a sea of earth and deserts of water and rain.

Like the depths of man; from our joy to our sorrows, from a peace to our pace, from fear to love, from life to death.

Like beaches of sand like dust, grass like laces of silk, and an ocean of hot spring water like glass in sun.

Like air, heavy with spirit; dense with salt and moisture and a wind of power to move the lands.

Like the inebriating sent of another body; our love for one another and the touch and warmth of a heart beat.

Like the rumble and deep growls of the earth to the heavenly and high laughter of the angels.

Like the calm, peaceful, and emptying refreshment of the night to the buzzing, pace filled, filling energy of the day; all to the ending resignation of life to death.

That's retirement, yo.