The precipice has walls
Decorated to an abundance
With murals of unimaginable history
Which chance has yet to write.
To dream of dreams yet underrate
When reality is morose and ignored
Postpones everything but my imagination
And cures the mundane routines.
So like a heart on my sleeve
The catchphrase of my life,
Broken and riddled with scars,
A mosaic of characteristic inconsistencies.
What is left to experience
In this, our mottled existence?
I have only a life to live,
Excitedly feasting on possibility, I LIVE!
by M. Perron (undated)
Notes: I’m really note sure what I was thinking about at this time… It feels like one of my ventures into having fun with words.