A captivating child's toy, obscuring what's behind.
Stained glass shards just reassemble with a shift of view,
Wheeling like a mandala rolling through the pews.
Mythic hero, evil foil, strict but loving Dad;
Temper prone but all supportive Mother of the land.
Splintered echoes seen reflected over history;
We all share a lot as people, but what does it mean?
Is there some truth that underlies, or is it all pretense?
Are we simply overwhelmed without that fractured lens?
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Hi! I make beer, cook food, play bass, and occasionally write words
Inky stars blot the page, Casting a worldly feel. The words that are scrawled upon its paleness, Turn the fiction into something real. With every passing second, more moments are added.
Expectations, culture, family graft onto our eyes A captivating child's toy, obscuring what's behind.
I see a dog piss on a tree, And in that tree I can see us smiling, you and me. I see a bomb blast on the TV, And in that crater I can see us hiding, you and me.
What if time had a smell. It would smell of sand. The oil in clocks. And hourglass varnish. Of must and lichens. And cobwebs and cradles. And dust in corners. And metal pendulums.
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