For it's not wisdom I scribble on paper,
But junk that cloud my head with a seductive song that takes me to the horizon;
And further forward into oblivion,
Where only the impossible thoughts and dreams seem so true and real.
Mere awe and surprise are the tools to life and a passage to sanity.
I don't know why my heart is so fond of wonderous adventures that it constantly eludes my mind;
And communicates with my soul in whispers before their disagreement brings back reality,
Another long silence, and a forgotten memory.
I empty old thoughts and vague aspirations,
Like a well builder empties mud so that water may sprout;
So that wisdom and new imaginations may spring forth.
When I speak, they listen,
For they believe I speak their minds out, their fears and pain;
And give them the streangth to outdare this evil world.
But little do they know that their attention and presence frees me from my fears and demons;
And elevates me to superior layers of heaven.