Self Deception

Sometimes, strange as it may seem;
our perception of reality will stray;
almost as though we live in a dream;
the real truth, like a mist, fades away.

Self deception is the opiate of thought;
it totally alters all our psychology;
we each rationalize it is, what ought;
and we

Ripples On The Water

If the cheeks on your face are a beach;
and your tears are waves coming in;
there must be a conclusion to reach;
for when did those tears begin;

What is it about a wave’s ebbs and flows;
just why they go in and come out;
is there possibly

Not Again

Why is it that life goes by so fast;
it’s finished before it got started;
why doesn’t it seem like it lasts;
some of my friends have departed.

I’d dreamed I’d be famous and rich;
have mastery over domain;
again and again I see reality switch;

Pity

That little old woman and little old man,
how sad their circumstance seems.
Doing their best to do all they can;
abandoning all hopes and dreams.

Such people abound almost every place;
in both countryside and every city;
in need of help and also grace;
usually drawing our response of

Phony

All particles and life are synonomous;
at least it’s what some people think;
the originator of that is anonymous;
“Can you please get me a drink?”

We live constantly in a festive season;
for we think this life’s all that we have;
much of us live life without

Perception

I’m discouraged; frightened;
I’m totally alone;
my sensitivity, heightened;
never feeling at home.

I’m constantly changing
who I am;
while the world’s rearranging
all that it can.

Everything outside,
all looks the same;
but truth wants to hide;
with no one to blame.

Yet nothing’s

Parameters

How wide a home is eternity?
How long will forever last?
What’s the size of life’s fraternity;
when does present morph into past?

How does today relate to tomorrow;
is time a sliding scale?
How does happiness change into sorrow;
and other like feelings unveil?

Will the sun

Pain

Today was a holiday; or so they say;
but it seems in no way different to me;
as empty hours are gliding away;
I’ve no longer the freedom to see.

What is it I’m doing; as landscapes go by;
searching for a purpose, remaining?
Devoid of sufficient tears,

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