Wise Lips Of Belief

Fri, 06/24/2022 - 06:22 -- Creator

It is not a sin 

Being an idealist

Being a realist or even

Being a dreamer.

 

We are all clocking at twelve 

When pitching of every eleven hit their peaks 

In every fight of romance of proof and subjection 

Time is intense days are up at appearances 

 

But not today 

Even though time ticks individually 

With each ticking eye

Soul of time within every soul differs

 

Leading visions fill up with adjusting positions 

Is it possible Universe’s ambition will never be filled?

It is possible arch days will challenge Kitty seen and Ryker within

Time will partner with the Uniform intellectuality of my insanity 

 

Profiling my profiting profile of prophets and magicians 

Hidden within the empowered classic guard 

of this glassy fluidity of reflection 

Awaiting transitioning seasons 

 

Cycles register their paths to me

Each day a choice for waiting to preserve a Felis catus of me 

Or make a Panthera tigris of me

Being the first or last of the clan. 

 

Miracles make me a member on arrival 

A guest for heaven’s meal and noble loam’s performance 

Glassy fluidity of reflection will move me 

In nature of existence, value, and virtue.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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