It is both a narrative of introspection and biting cultural
observations |
To bleed all black or bleed all white are rugged bumps upon life's trail; but I bleed right between the light as tangled shadows fade to pale. Wrapped all around in muslin grays I do confuse the muse of light; curled up in cotton-cloud bouquets, I hide my rise of pure delight. We seek to feel the force of free (intuitive instruction sought); then compliment simplicity to rid the grid of complex thought. Words formed upon an empty sheet will soon become an anthem sung; refuse confusion's new elite when jingle-jangle bells are rung. Seductions by reduction make a break for ultra-common place where wizards claim they are not fake but hide their thin-skinned, bitter face. Go out among the multitudes, absorb the truth imbued in man. Feel free to travel latitudes that stray away from your first plan. The muscled hustler finds his grooves within the sin of mighty mind, accepted though infected, proves the mighty mind is hard to find. Become a lover of the light, unwrap all straps around the truth. Praise purity of common sight, ignite it in your troubled youth. Our loss of liberty has made another perfect tragedy, where lazy, hazy, days of shade corrupted man's reality. This bitter fit mythology incites until the light is lost; dissect each bit of piety, begin to finalize its cost. And here I leave you with good will until the song of love we sing will spark that spark inside man still and silver bells of peace shall ring. |