Motive

The confusion state is a stated fact
Its location is inevitable within the world
We can be certain of uncertainty at any given time
No one's seen life's banner unfurled

To know why others act as they do
To know what someone thinks for sure
The wilderness of humans is in our minds
With words our fangs, with apathy our fur

The shields we erect to protect our core
The acts we put on to disguise
In the end, what are we so defensive for?
Is security really worth the lies?

Impressions of "The Girl's Fantasy"

The curtains split to open a world
The state of "fin" in the air
The mirror shade of the play and dream
That place, wishes come true there

A place of shadow, a place of light
Of cycle unending, of ruins within sight
No beginning or end, the cycle goes on
No escape by walking, no escape by flight

The end to the endless approaches in time
In time in a place without time
For nothing is born and nothing dies
As is seen through the junk doll's eyes

The shining shadows of the legend's proof
The lone life in a world of death
The dead that walks alongside that of life
The truth given in whispered breath

The swirling snow of an unknown fate
The heaping banks of silence's start
The obstructions that lead to immobility
At oblivion, one can speak with their heart

To fade into such a world of nothing
Become the shield of potential's light
To dream the dream of the wishes of all
To sleep away unending night

Or perhaps one awakens again in the light?

Idle

The idle hands of idle minds idly perform their tasks
The sewing of a mystery shroud, the weaving of damask
The twists and turns of unerring line, the way we all proceed,
To find the truth to all of this, just ask.

Chicken Scratch

Some say that the art of an artist is theirs
Their art is the mark that their medium bears
Their skill is judged by the meaning it shares
But this system is hollow inside

For instance my art is of paper and pen
Of where words are written, of where pencil's been
But if I erase them, what of it then?
This blank, from your eyes does it hide

But does this mean my work doesn't exist
The presence of [Deleted] words that we've missed?
Are the thoughts absent in the world if there isn't a list?
If that is so, by these rules I won't abide

The act of this pen gouging paths on this page
Is naught but my mark binding thoughts to a cage
Yet the prison isn't a container, instead it's a stage
Upon which these words act as a guide

My words are not mine, they've existed all along
The potential for poem, the potential for song
What I've done is put them into material strong
This is the truth to you I'll confide

Statues

The essence of being, the form of formThe shape of ourselves withinThe mark of who we are, our mask to the worldThe evidence of who we've beenWe fill these shapes by being ourselvesYet the world requires shapes that are knownTwo forces that mold the clay of your beingTo sculpt the mask that is shownTo top off that fact of societal interferenceWe push upon the clay of othersWe shape the statues of those close to usMake our mark upon another'sTo allow someone else to distort who I amIs that such a point of contention?I don’t mind the touches of another’s idealAs long as they’re within my comprehension