A joke or a riddle
I cannot decide
which note I could fiddle
from which punch-line to hide
Questions pending
answers not true
the universe isn't ending
the ocean's not blue
Something new everyday
many books left to burn
smart enough now to say
that the wise never learn
Somehow ahead, but always behind
my life must catch up with my mind
Inside I am sleeping
outside of my head
my soul isn't keeping
what my eyes have been fed
In time I'll forget you
or so you might think
my memory is untrue
as my eyes tend to blink
Though I always remember
what was once important
if I could somehow dismember
perceptions mossy distortions
Then perhaps I will find
a part of me that went missing
before I rallied behind
this big boot I've been kissing
Oh that shame and the mystery
behind aiming at history
Who am I? I wonder
for the last time I was free
were the days I was younger
back when I knew me
But I didn't know then
that now I'd be thinking
of my innocent friend
imagining me without blinking
Because I was meaning
back when I was dreaming
to make someone of meaning
of the person now screaming
Inside can't stop fighting
with the author of the book
that I'm writing
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 11:56 PM UTC
A joke or a riddle
I cannot decide
which note I could fiddle
from which punch-line to hide
Questions pending
answers not true
the universe isn't ending
the ocean's not blue
Something new everyday
many books left to burn
smart enough now to say
that the wise never learn
Somehow ahead, but always behind
my life must catch up with my mind
Inside I am sleeping
outside of my head
my soul isn't keeping
what my eyes have been fed
In time I'll forget you
or so you might think
my memory is untrue
as my eyes tend to blink
Though I always remember
what was once important
if I could somehow dismember
perceptions mossy distortions
Then perhaps I will find
a part of me that went missing
before I rallied behind
this big boot I've been kissing
Oh that shame and the mystery
behind aiming at history
Who am I? I wonder
for the last time I was free
were the days I was younger
back when I knew me
But I didn't know then
that now I'd be thinking
of my innocent friend
imagining me without blinking
Because I was meaning
back when I was dreaming
to make someone of meaning
of the person now screaming
Inside can't stop fighting
with the author of the book
that I'm writing
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