The first deceivers were weavers
mechanically believed,
maniacally manufactured
trying me to finally find the answer
as to why we hurt.

Let's see who stands my test of time,
threads spin, intertwined
as styles synthesize
minds ripe for picking,
shrines leap off limbs lending
me a branch to climb up and end it,
a cloud to puff a cig with,
a chance to shine
just like the sun
cant tell a canyon
from a figment of one
mind the bend of the cliffs edge
sailing through time
at last, alas my ship's wrecked.