"Torn"
Torn
Torn between two worlds, I’m my own paradox.
The anomaly that boggles me, alone where it stops…
in an unknown direction, bottoms up over the top.
I’m elevated when it lifts, but deposed when it drops.
My focus has stopped.
Wandering blind or blindly I wander…
I wonder, about the stars I’m under. I ponder…
My mind is asunder over the thunder I squander…
Many moons and plunder the summer, I’m fonder…
no longer of the good which you honor.
Torn between two worlds, I’m my own mystery.
An enigmatic fabric puzzles my extrasensory…
perception of this unaesthetic attic which is me
Externally pragmatic antics mask costly thoughts which enter free.
Essentially…it’s just a mental fee.
Elaborate varied vocabulary makes my tactics carry…
extravagant capillaries I can bury with lack of very…
adamant acts of expansionary stays, the facts are nary…
aberrant. A serried basilary should keep my actions merry…
or at least be the basis for strategic acts of parry.
© 2008-2009 Malik Peterson. All Rights Reserved.
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