As I hold this pen tight,
and brace for mind flight.
In silence of night,
I often ponder life.
The who’s.
The what’s.
Especially, the whys.
Why are we so clouded,
by the mask of disguise?
Why is the world engulfed in lies?
Can we see straight?
Is the globe tilted on an angle?
Or am I walking sideways,
balancing the filtered candle of light?
Clarity seems greater at night,
yet no one can see what’s right before them.
Why is it that you choose,
to see the world,
through your reality based cloud of mist,
instead seeing only,
what you insist persists to exist,
when I can’t relate at all,
or even begin to get the gist?

Sometimes I’m convinced it’s me.
I must be the darkhorse,
roaming far off course,
never charging for fees,
but constantly being forced,
to pay the cost.
And then,
I understand just what is at hand.
Your eyes are yet to be blessed.

Though your years exceed mine,
they fall short of the time and events
that have passed through my lens,
settled in my mind,
onto my consciousness.
Am I complex?
If I wasn’t I’d be you.
Can you understand,
what’s important to pursue?
If it was easy,
I would sit mad cheesy,
never a sober moment or a care,
watching over it,
bound within parameters,
not seeing all the damages,
and worst of all,
though seldom shown,
constantly possessed,
by fear of the unknown.

Instead I choose self,
while you search high and low for the wealth,
I can’t look past the glass,
or the quest that starts within.

So I begin my path.

With my feet on the sand,

these thoughts in my mind,

and this pen in my hand.