There is a notion of peace, a place where the calm is now
There is an emotion of stability, an unwavering sense of joy
There is hope and a perception of elation of everything to
come
And there is reality, laid bare, naked, tits up, and dry
from all its done
We are creators of our own myths, our own realities
We tell truths that are lies, and lies the transcend reality
We make peace with the nagging voice the one that speaks all
lies
In our hearts is nothing but hope, but our words betray our eyes
In space and time, actions lose meaning, lose context
What’s left is but a remnant of what once was and what was
felt
Be it the tender touch or betrayal
itself, this heart is fickle
This mind remains to feel what the heart has already dealt
In childhood, the words flowed unsparingly
Like hope and joy and triumph and poetry
Because poetry was simple like life itself
You said you would be there at death’s doors itself
