Is it true, that only I can see from this perspective?
Is anyone out there, with enough commonality to see the dimension I see?
Is there any existence, congruent to mine?

It's fearful to think about,
I'm alone in my dimension

I'd like to think
That far away, in another time
Or space
Or dimension
There is another version of me
Living out the life
I threw away

do I speak in riddles? Or just in rhyme? I have no time for rhyme, so I speak in riddles so riddle me this do you play with a fiddle? Or a flute on a lily pad with soft clouds in mind? Or do you play for the devil in own spare time. Well I tell you this sir I play in my mind, with thoughts of demons, not angels, not heaven. heaven I can question, disprove and not find but demons oh demons they're real in my mind.

The first lines I wrought, was a joke and a hoax. A child with a pen, imagination ran thin. This is why my first poem, was just a joke from within.

a riddle came to mind and a battle raged inside. For it fought and persisted whether to be riddle or rhyme.

Riddle of the demon ment to trick those who hide. Rhyme of the angels  To comfort the kind. Hellfire scorches all light from the sky. Angels become violent for the sake mankind.