Conundrums in Motion Poem

Maybe I am that vain,

maybe I’ve been robbed insane.

Perhaps it really is that way,

and maybe, just maybe, I expect too much.

This human experience—

it can make life,

make thee soul rough.

Here I am,

feeling everything so vividly,

and yet some days fly faster than others.

Before you even realize it,

you’re leaping forward…

years have passed.

Down thee tunnel of time,

oh my… where have you flown?

To each their own,

Is there a rewind button somewhere?

t h e s e B e a t s H i t D e e p,

but honesty must be thee best policy,

for if it’s not,

then rot will surely be thee stench

of every seed sown from one’s own deception.

It’s interesting, isn’t it?

A rough analysis of this channeling paralysis—

the way I zone out and just type,

listening to the silent echoes of words yet to be spoken,

shining on me like

Bright Lights.

I write them down

as they flow out,

Vibrations sing,

just as thee trees blow aggressively outside

in the soft, fall rain.

There’s something exquisite in it all, don’t you think?

This folklore of nature and human essence,

both patiently waiting for more.

What is m o r e?

As I stand here,

pondering my entire existence without resistance,

I can’t help but wonder—

what have I become

if not undone?

Conundrums.

Enchantress Thee Babbler 

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