Running Child

Run little child run.
Run to the opposite poles of the world.
Lather yourself,
In all kinds of visual medleys.
Flavors,
Aromas,
Varieties of all kinds.
Winds,
Tainted ith all kinds of color.
And all else,
That may remain unknown to man.
Just like it,
Remain suspended in everlasting motion.
Let the homelessness of logic,
Here...
Be gone!
Little child think.
Do not let the idea of halting,
Slither no way into that mind.
Think about all other worlds and realms,
You are to tread in due time.
Little child once you tire,
Grant those legs of yours a wish.
Let them dissipate,
Vanish into nothingness,
And see it all become,
The very wind around you.
Caressing,
Engulfing,
Essentially consuming your body,
In its [gentle/playful] strokes.
Consider your arms feathered wings;
Wings that lift you,
Beyond all mortal concealment.
Wings that lift all restriction of human flesh.
Allow new colors,
To bleed into the fragile fibers of your hair.
Adorn this mane of yours,
With a ribbon or two of madness.
Let those little black ribbons,
Keep all logic bound, bare and shattered.
Allow these kaleidoscope eyes of yours,
To sift all there is to see,
Through the swift ironies of time;
As we all age together in its walk.
Let any and every emotion,
Condense and rain down...
Allow it to darken into mellow whiskey.
Allow yourself to lay waste,
Fall into a deep drunkenness,
Of all you have come to despise of yourself.
And all you may still cherish.
To all you may come to gain,
And all else that you have already lost.
Cheers right?
That is right, cheers,
For all that you are.
Let it run free.
Let it run away.
And all else that may inhabit,
That tender little body of yours.
Let that broken child play with you.
Let him run with you.
Allow yourself to be overtaken,
And lose all notion of identity.
Let that little child you see,
Complement all that you are now.
Now as a man of age,
I dare you to deny one thing.
Deny that lending the mortal mind,
To creative insanity...
Is not a beautiful thing?