sweat, tears
loves, fears
tick, tock
fifth gear.

reverse this rehearsal
to the untimely universal
birth unto this earthly mortality.

relieve strain of the insane
pulsating, gyrating grey masses in what brain?
oh, this brain that says salvation comes to the sinners,
havenʻt seen one come out a winner
beginnerʻs luck stands no chance,
in the invisible, mystic dance.
perchance a lucky mister,
who sits silently and whispers,
tricky tricks that slowly lift you
sky high and lets you see through
lenses of the enchanted,
senses what youʻve taken for granted
candid shots in memories past due.
i see you.