Time is a deceiving song;
Manacled constructs that constrict the flow of the now.
I cannot perceive the past or future;
It is inconceivable when living moment to moment,
Hand to mouth,
On a knife’s edge;
My thoughts are consumed by an unceasing melody.
I live life like a musician, who composes a song which falls on deaf ears.
I write by the stream of consciousness
Like a bird who scours the heavens for food and shelter.
The power of my conviction,
My will to create shares the same forces
As the tides of the sea’s tempest.
I am an enclave of soul and rhythm.
My poetry is improvised jazz that stirs to orchestrate
Hidden universes residing in the cerebellum.
Aligning your spine and opening the third eye
To see what affronts your internal remedy.
I don’t know truth but I do know the art of lies.
I can dress a beautiful lie and sew golden laces
And fabricate fiction if that’s what you want to hear.
I cannot strip day to day truth; it remains hidden from view.
Time is a deceiving song,
But now is my gift to you.