untitled

This isn’t poetry or pain
It’s somewhere in between
Dancing an uncertain dance

It’s not trying to sound pretty or sullen
It’s somewhere in between
And the question becomes
What brings about these filaments of thought
Whipping dendritic fingers scratching
And stroking what lies inside this skull
And what exactly is it
Lurking within those folds and chasms
That hunts for dreams
And stares out at stars trying to remember
Where our pieces came from

Sometimes I think my soul is a child
Running through the maze and passageways of my brain
Playing peek-a-boo with clarity
Which sometimes catches a quick glance
Of that sweet inner sun