Fast forward in time,
To a place that was then,
Transform the mind,
With less than paper penned Zen.
To find a believable center,
That was never quite seen,
No matter the bantered canter,
That pace that was always obscene.
But in the base of your fear,
All aspects are yet forgivable,
How is this an ever lustful portent,
Through prudent eyes so beautiful,
An ever-blending portrait,
But I am no harbinger,
No bringer of the rain,
Nor am I the carpenter,
Or finder of your sane,
I am merely the one left standing,
Standing in sardonically soaked pain,
With very real thoughts,
That I am the one who is insane.

But for love I can't complain....