Based on a conversation

Physically unable to imagine a place of beauty inside your own being.
Talk of a place, a field, a tree house, or a road with a line.
A dotted yellow line on the road to sleep.

I woke up and looked through ceiling and saw
Bright cold white stars,
Sparkling through my eyes.

Power enough you fight for with both hands tied behind your back.
Your heart blows out and your internal beauty blossoms.
No one pays attention.
No one needs to know you're on fire except you.
The eyes say more than we know.

Learn from mistakes past on second hand through the ages.
Second hand is beauty first in God's eye.

God bases the chat on silent intention.
Talk, conversation, chat, discussion.

--Matt Crichton
1/23/11