The shadow wall
and the images hidden
at the edges of
my peripheral vision
toy with my gullible
and senseless intuition
about the world
and all of its positions
If I listen
to all of the blather
the universe
just gets worse
and I find no peace
in any matter
Paranoia sits
in the old willow tree
hovering like fear
watching over me
waiting to find
a way inside
so my better mind
will run and hide
If we cower
behind the lie
in these chains
and self inflicted pains
only shadows will greet us
when we die
(September 23rd, 2017)
YOU ARE READING
Post Modern Mystic
PoetryPoetry fills a need of the human heart to express through the construction of artistic verse, the things that hide in its depths. This book of poetry is my attempt to reach those places and beyond. See if I do. Let me know if I reach you. This will...
