No matter a poet’s personal views
we are all symbiotic
with the eternal muse..

Just when you think you have it all figured out
a new pattern distorts the mystery..
All a poet can possibly do
is try to be on the right side of history.

We hold to our truths
as cogs in a divine façade.
In a matrix that’s much too copious
to possibly know it all.

Emotional states distort our perceptions.
Love and hate
the eternal *******..

The plasticity of heart allows a path
to bending without breaking…
A dark night of the soul,
several or so
can lead you to an awaken.