Simple words are spoken, wise or foolish too,
Laughter or scorn, the listener's point of view.

Wisdom from simple lips, a paradox to share,
Dismissed by the wise, with no one to care.

Experts watch with critical eyes,
Foolishness implied, in simple surprise.

Let us beware, of biases we hold,
And wisdom's sources, where'er they unfold.

from ambiguity is insight born.
minds, both clever and not,
all conceive many a thought.

in attempt to interpret,
ideas are set into motion,
building a creative notion.

through presence of equivocation,
wit is given liberty

Maybe me calling my problem a problem is the problem.

Leaves still falling all around
Painting holy hallowed ground
Shades of red, orange, yellow, and brown
The trees as kings have lost their crowns

The purest awe we take for granted
gets overlooked and slighted, slanted.
Flocks of birds or lovely mantids
This place we haunt is quite enchanted.

A holy ether fills our lungs
Our hearts still beating just like drums
Our inner truths burn bright like many suns
And creative insight our way comes.

It’s gorgeous when we do then find
pure inspiration in our minds
no longer feeling trapped, confined
the gift to see our peers as kind.

It’s practically our civic duty
to show these people their inner beauty

The light that touches everything
Is the light within you that makes you sing.

Those pictures of me
Are disingenuous images

Blurred from the start
The fuzziness has grown over time

I’m told to see myself
Where can I find a true mirror?

Others say the sounds of me
Are clear and eye-opening

I listen for the sounds inside me
Can sounds ring distinct and genuine

Still much static blurs
The best parts of me

I seek to find silence
To settle into solitude

I engage in deeply
Listening to the uttering of my heart

My heart emits a song
Of the genuine me

Art misleads you to

think you understand something --


and to stop thinking.

While I was passaging around;-
In an acquainted car, deprived of any hint of tints
My soul felt stuck inside that glass box;
Clear as a lucid bright day, to see how fragile I am

The glass in itself;- was reflective, so picturized
Boldly showing all the ugliness written out,
By the milage in my eyes.