Copyright Edward A. Palmer

Coming into being is tricky sometimes.
Understanding your purpose amidst all the lies.
Ideas blossom and then grow,
And then they blossom and grow some more.
When you reach above the sky and lasso figments
And see through blind eyes,
Others look, but they can't see,
What's inside this reality.
On occasion you may find one,
But seldom they are so you slump to doldrums.
There you sit,
The garden brilliant,
But there is no sun,
And your world gets turbulent.

Looking into their eyes you know,
They will never understand the happiness and sorrow,
that swirls between the back and the front
of the glass pools that watch their movements.

So tuck away what scares them deep,
And walk the path of the black sheep,
Knowing you know something else,
That others around you made you put on a shelf.
But they can't take what you know inside,
Or your being and your sense of pride,
So quiet, quiet, so quietly, reside in your world amongst the thieves.
One day when the time is right,
That will be the day that you take flight.

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