What of truth beyond reality’s grin?
Of suffering faith in self proclaimed kings?
Do I dwell in my heart’s fear architecture,
Revealing motion and invisible strings?
Or am I the architect for the coming of things?
What of beauty,farthest stars and skies?
Of reaching to see beyond your eyes?
Could it be I react to imagination’s tricks,
a blindly constructed truth of a slippery lie?
Or does doubt condition the unrest of mind?
What of the cold stream of tradition?
Of this sudden silence I hear?
As if humanity faces It’s fears
staring another apparition of war.
Am I being a fool for focusing attention.
Tell me I am wrong...
Tell me there is no calm before the storm.
