Scribbles and Intentions.

We want what we want
And we chase after what we become.
We push and we strive
Until a goal is acheived.
Competion.
Laughter.
Primevial intentions.
And there we are--
And there it is--
It is the pulse of the rhythym of the heart
That tends to speed up at the thoughts and intentions
Of we want what we want
And we chase after what we become.

Running is a past-time,
And I'm in trouble because
My feet are weary
And my mind is sore.
But staying is a pastime
And I'm in trouble
Because the rhythym of the meter of the heart
Is chasing after who I want to become.

The wind is in my hair
And we all know my hair is long enough to tangle
At the ends
And I'm chasing after solidarity
So tangles are a pastime
But the rhythym of the meter of the sound
Of the trumpets are blairing.
And the rain is on my face,
And the drops of water
Are chasing after my throat--

And living water is what I will become.

~Rachel~