How can the mind decide when its time to time this timely action?

Question

Read this whilst listening to some Jazz
its a fun one
...

I left my left hand to lay on my chest protecting my heart. Its condition to this vision of what is meant to be but what if i dont know what i dont know and that its crucial and lose all sight. A right hand warm to touch sleeps on my tuning fork of a head. That waters down the tones and mones of mental foggery. A fell group could not philoso me. Is it up to me to know that deep down Im afraid of the judgement . That deep down the pain that is the favourite subject. Its aimed at my brain. Praying to pray on the pray that pray with the pray. It prays and breeds mor ebells and willsuls. Its raw. I know the rails that hunt the times of tree trunks. I cant keep up with the flows of this river jump. Its a star that stares down intimidating a young body old soul. How old is too old. How young is the song sung when its eyes reflect the moon light. The fight of a night the fight with day for more light is the lasting noise on a river side that holds tight to the boats that are right next to our whispers. I pause. Lift my hand to my tongue. No taste. The other hand writes and its open palm has a smell that makes it no swell story to make sense in a starving heart. How was it that the last to start this darkest heart in the direction of a … No direction to go. Consulting the tolden olds that spark a way for some ways but now i only see one way that sways in amongst hurtin turntables. The stable fables of the girl from portugal seem to bring light to a darkness that didnt leave shantaram on the table. Its fate went well for it cant sing with more tales that arent already told with children in mind. If its divine then i guess its time to keep this song going. Do I keep it going and wonder of all the worries of other minds that define time on the measures of our mind. When infinite is eternal how can a soul be told what the hearts feel. How can the mind decide when its time to time this timely action. Always weighting for reactions to see what should action a man of. Great ma’s calling. Shes in my spine again. The bees came up in the dreams last night. One lodged itself at the tip of my spine but she wasnt there to say not this time. Was it her or was it I. Did it fly to say by or was it nudging me for more glories. She leaves her scars at the base and pine the tip and the top of confusing rays that beam down to another town amongst clowns. Id run down way too frown for it took this town four miles to reach its water source. Im forced to diplore this lore of open spillings that became the only shillings i was willing to shiver. On first spokens this cabeza wanted killings it wanted to mark the start of an end. But the more it became a friend the heart had its turn and i turn the mind to delete its freaks for a moments story became a moments moment and then a moment became four moments the four stars linked to old lives that werent ever told to another soul but she. How could it be that shes 5 years old on top of a tree and i am 3. Did i understand what she was sent for or did i became the lead for a leaking tree? Its old and its cold at the bottom of this river. Id shiver but thats way too old of thought to remain at the top of this scrolling tunnel i remain too humble to huddle amongst you and you. Its teo and two that make one but i cant take its rain on top of purple whales if they fail to sail ill set sail... https://www.well-books.com/journal/a-soliloquy-of-saudade