Times, every now and then,

I wrestle for time to begin

in solitude where I am in

so I might look deep within.

---

In silence I can hear clear

echos of what I hold dear.

They reverberate so near

where in my heart appears.

---

To make sense of sound

where alone I have found,

to steady feet on ground,

what I should do abounds.

---

Reality for me none make.

Ears my friends did mistake

for a spitefully blind place.

Forget they a learned face.

---

Who’s eyes have seen ends

that death might have sat in.

Who am I my my blind friends?

If not a man familiar with sin?

---

Your whispers of ill will falls

on ground where I stand tall.

Where to bed I do take it all

waking to see what sleep saw.

---

For to make sense of spite

you spin in sin that divides.

Heard I did while in the night

your acidic values take flight.

---

Ears can be tricked by fancy.

Tell me tales to dance with me.

Forget you did quite handily

not deceived am I by dancing.

---

Caution in my solace brought,

from what trips alone taught

of what I should do or do not

with great price I have bought.