I can put words on paper,
They fit and  they rhyme
But I am not truly a poet
There is no definition
Yet still I am not.
I am not a poet
And I will always fail
For the same simple reason
Beliefs can be a poison.

Often Mistaken are love and lust.
  Bet on a heart, but only to bust.

Love isn't common. In short, a treasure.
  So praise it as more than simply a pleasure.

Lust is for fools and ****** desire.
  A state of dread is all you'll acquire.

Now defined, keep them apart.
  Or find later on a lonesome heart.

Purely amazing,
is how you, I define.
I hope so bad
you'll always be mine.

It was today
I saw him preaching
"In all our actions,
we're always teaching."

So I came to him
question burning
"Doesn't that mean
we're always learning?"

Look around you,
A world of fraud.
All these lies
Deserve an applaud.

You hide yourselves
With thick fake masks,
Dropping the ensemble
In the safety of your casks.

You plead for reality
Yet do so cloaked.
Open your eyes,
This fate, you've evoked.

To the few
Vulnerable and bare,
I have a favor to ask
If you truly care.

So those of you
Free of feign and guilt
I ask that you tear down
What we have built.

The clock is a lie,
Imposter of time.
An original word,
Represented with rhyme.

The clock is insignificant,
Time though, is power.
The space between breaths,
Not the chime of the hour.

Similar in nature,
The difference is clear.
The clock Is a tool,
Yet time we fear.

Trying to stop it,
The clock was made,
But you can't stop reality.
Eventually we all fade.

The amount of words
Shared in a stare
Is nearly infinite
Take special care.

Ride the moment
And walk away knowing
Communication
Naturally flowing.

I wasn't prepared
When I embraced your eyes
False, deceitful,
Composed of lies.

Everything I knew
Stripped away
With your emotionless stare
Pools of gray.