Tuesday, January 14, 2014

Truth Be Known

I'm not who you think and I'm not who I know
as my color will change every hour the winds blow
I can leave on your doorstep a soft, mellow song
or a tome of confusion, a goodness gone wrong

It's a gallop through darkness, an unnerving ride
an emotional fusion, an incoming tide
While I do what I can to enslave the foul beast
it's the voice of my loved ones, now long since deceased

There's a pattern to madness, a rule set in place
that demands obfuscation, a multiplied face
There are signs that will tell one when leaps have been made
the connections of logic, unlike, yet fair trade

If creatives are spawned by the cruelty of life
then I'll dance with the devil and die by his knife
as I've little to offer save humor and pain
I am just the caboose on my life's hellbound train

Yet I know that it's in me, a love of my heart
but I stifle it, crumple it, can't let it start
to take over my will and bring smiles to my face;
for each madman takes pride in creating his place

If I let all that go, if I bury my past
would my knowledge remain, would ability last?
Would I never again see the smirk in what's foul
or screech loud through the night as a raven on prowl?

It's a never light struggle, what's right and what's wrong
and I strive to run solo, not bring you along;
but there is some magic here taking its toll
for I've found it a pleasure, this baring my soul


  1. What is a writer without voyeurs?
    I'm glad you don't 'run solo'