There is a part of me remains inclined
to let the world imagine me undefined.
or our quest toward individuality.
What’s my reality,
I’ll tell you only if you listen to me,
but there’s the struggle,
the obstacle between knowing and telling,
is the inherent nature of a sadness
overcomes our own desire to rid the madness.
While embarrassment can often expose
the true nature of the demons we hold,
our lives always remind ourselves that human nature
in all of its evidential plan to feature
mystique and an inherent chance to change,
still mocks the true reality of our game.
If we could wake to splendor every breaking sun
what would cause the need to wonder of our pain
if it became a surreal memory
rather than the constant reminder a soft cry might bring.
If we could know when to rely upon a need
might then our lives become less overshadowed
by a society suggests we always understand
rather than accepting confusion as a demand.
We are subjects of appraisal,
in the moment,
when while alone in our mind we do travel,
there are always a set of eyes nearby,
to ponder, to wonder, to initiate our own sense of
Oh to be that muse of everyone in their daily ongoings,
to know the key to survival in a storm would be our knowings.