I can write all day and day
Or night for day.
I try not to write all the time
I'd rather sleep.
I think about the times gone
And wonder.
If postmodern is pop
And I'm aware.
Does that make the world?
I write that it goes further
But what if, what.
If it all means nothing
We are categorizable.
Its beautiful I write now
But ugliness
Goes a lot further
Cause that is truth.
I can write if I choose.
My magic is in its reading.
The writing is not mirrors
And smoke.
Its mystic.
And long in the heart.
Time is so relevant
When all we have is
Words that last
Forever.
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