If this life were a song, I would not dance.
If the eyes are the windows into the soul, I pray for blindness.
If the words spoken are bridges into the souls of others, I beg to be deaf and shall never cross.
If which makes this world go round is love, I ask on bended knee to be numb and unfeeling.
If the mouth speaks from the heart's abundance, I choose to be mute.
If we are all connected and come from the same tree, I ask the limb which dangles my fruit to be lopped off.
If the spirit of this world were a rose, I wish to not sense aromas evermore.
If it is wisdom which permeates through life's air, I choose to breathe in folly.
My piece does not fit in HERES puzzle. HERE, the fog chokes and distorts my light, rendering it opaque, muddying it through it's wall of misted confusion. I wish to fly but am anchored down by an anvil of flesh. Who's lark was it that plays this game of tomfoolery with me? My ticket was punched, but my destination was not meant for HERE. HERE, is a facade, HERE, everything wears a mask. HERE everything lurks. HERE is a place reserved for the lost on the road to THERE. HERE is where the skeletons remain. The haze and clouds of the gray vaporous fog refuse to lift, I hear the train's whistle, it is distant and muffled and never seems to get closer. Around the bend the kiss of it's orange light never casts it's glow on the rails of the track to signal it's approach. I will stay on this platform and wait for it for the remainder of my days. It's destination is a welcomed one if it is going to anyplace but HERE.
