While In Solace

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 fall

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.



Categories: Personal, Perspective

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