Beautiful Paradoxes
Inspired by aforementioned post…
Beautiful paradoxes
are all that I see
I live in wooden boxes
Don’t see no trees
And music is the way I pray
I don’t get on my knees
My hand is solid space creating harmony
My fingers are vibrations breaking on the strings
But my anger has a name a face
and a view of the sea
My pride resides in my Versailles
That I have named Humility
And I have walked among the graves the grain of the wheat field
the ley lines patterned like a crop circle meaning revealed
Not by logic but by the time I find another key
I’ll be reborn again into the fractal skin
of memory
If I had known myself ten years ago
I would have still asked to see
The fallen angel, the perfect love,
the snake upon the tree
Where there are roads
there’s fewer stones
but the stones
make us believe
That we can rise again, and die again
and still have more to see
