these next few lines
are nothing more than passing rhymes
conjured by yours truly
shaped by the marks of our modern times

our ability to mold the surrounding world
that starts with a single word
is the greatest gift bestowed upon us
if not by fictitious gods and goddesses
than the Great Nothingess we come from
we are all headed towards

to impose structure rhythm
or create musicality when it's not needed
or to conform to some ancient method of writing
is to limit your possibly endless intellect
into a circle of routine where neglect
confides you without a possibility of escape

absolute freedom reigns complete
as we begin to deconstruct
the image of a complete
and all knowing being

words about words
letters about letters
building a bridge that closes the gap
between times long gone
and dreams dreamt but not ye done

in a World overflowing
with an abundance of art
sound life music
why bend to the cold wind
of conformity

in a World where words
are now free why suffer
under the chains of captivity
created by men serving the Machine

I digress
for the sake of expressing
more with less
I must confess
poetry for me has always been
a method to see the unseen
a place where silence is sound
a bizarre journey on the merry go round
where this round planet I inhabit becomes flat
and I paint its reality with the imaginary
how about that

words about words
a hundred ways to depart embark
walking sailing
in the sea forest of art