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.


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