Off with my head!
As I spin in dread.
From fantasies fed
by the life I’ve led.
All is but a dream.
I watch stars gleam.
By the tainted stream
jaded I do scream.
All but the planet lies.
The hunger does drive
things we do to survive
and the truths we hide.
In dreams fantasy appears
because most feel tears.
Most everyone’s mad here
inside and outside ears.
In silence we do hear
a calm we hold so near.
Take a breath my dear,
soon direction’s clear.
Though mischief run amok,
from what the mind constructs,
a stream will never get stuck.
But it will filter out the muck.
What we put on display,
the logistics of what we say,
sifted by judgement’s sway,
permit us to speak this way.
Mystic, though, are motives;
ill-will souls I’ve demoted.
For them the door, close it.
But for sanity leave it opened.
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