Sometimes just for nostalgia,
I re-read the poems of the past.
You wrote with such conviction,
And a hope which did not last.
But just to see those words again,
Makes my world again so clear.
Filled with courage, without doubt,
The days of yesteryear.
When all the "black and white" of it,
The search for a perfect tree,
"Trouble" in all it's glory,
Meant everything to me.
And though I no longer speak it,
And all hope is gone it seems,
Believe me, not one day goes by,
When you aren't in my dreams.

I have sought truth with the diligence of a missing set of keys.
Never to find it. At least not in its whole state.
Its never altogether. Its always scattered in bits and pieces and the wind blows one or another in from time to time when I leave the door open.
And then I collect them...and try to solve the riddles written on them before they will even make any sense and then try to assemble them together...you know ..see if I have all the pieces yet. But I never do. And I find it so ironic that this search for truth entails deciphering lies more often than not and even more ironic that a majority of them are my own which I must have.tossed into the wind ages ago and forgotten about.

Here is what I mean, my friend.
Clear your mind and sit a spell.
For I've found a revelation's end,
That to you I'd love to tell.

I need to ask you something. Yes! I must.
You know, I'm very good with those.
You'll answer honestly I trust,
To these questions I now pose.

Who knows you as yourself does know?
Does anyone solely rely on you?
Your answer will be "no-one, no."
Unfortunately...it's true.

If tomorrow came and I were gone,
And here's just what I meant.
The world would turn and carry on,
That's "insignificant."

Who is this who lies in my bed,
That I don't even know?
Who's so messed up within his head,
With nowhere else to go?

Feeding me breakfast poisoned with dreams,
And singing me hope to sleep?
Who then lies awake concocting schemes,
For with my soul to keep?

A master and a villain he be,
Behind an angel's eyes.
Yet he's the fool...it is not me,
I see through his disguise.

You see perception blessed me thrice,
And now I am full aware.
Fool me once, fool me twice,
But again? You best beware!

For I can also lace the truth,
To cut you down to size;
Use your deceit as my reproof,
And justify the lies.

But use my pillow - I'll play the role,
And take my portion double.
Before I snip your twisted soul,
"My pleasure..it's no trouble."