My eyes are of waiver

They click and tock onto 

the views that are given--

calloused hands twiddling a sauce covered spoon

make my vision spell a new line 

on paper.

A crying boy with shivering shoulders cause my descriptions to shake

along side him

The ombre rose gold that melts with the azul sky 

allows the water to wash over my piece.

My eyes still waiver as my ears

tingle at the sounds that engulf me

A bike bell I hear? It can be a tinging from a great church!

Oh the wind! Might it not be a ship coming to overtake me?

The whispers of my mother--

Simple truths ignite me as well

Many a great pecuilars call to my imaginations

all conclude to the function of 

multitudes.