A chapter in the book A Poets Mind
Smoke and Mirrors
Wet paint, it's not a saint
Stop sign, when it's blind
Traffic cop, in the shop
Next to nothing, knows it's not
We're not here, to clear the air
Stubborn reasoning, over there
Bells that sway, along the way
Wriggle to the giggle, but don't belittle
Hair of the dog, lost in a fog
Crazy in love, a little push and shove
Green is the red part of blue, looking at you
Cain killed Abel, the first sacrificial table
It's all incoherent, broken and bent
The message sent, without recompense
The end begins again, in yesterday's din
Muse all confused, interrogated in the news
Lost but not found, a new section of renown
It's alive it's dead, walking along with our stead
The vision is cloudy, the vision is clear
It's all masked, with smoke and mirrors
When it is , it's not
Cold, when it's hot
Tight, when it's loose
Right, when using an excuse
Left, in a conservative thought
Boisterous, on the quiet spot
So it's in, when it's out
Whispers, as it shouts
Down, when it's up
Still hungry, after it sups
Alone, in a crowded room
Going slowly, as it zooms
Its all really, smoke and mirrors
As this poem, has shredded its gears
Then when it's over and all through
As we lived in this crowded zoo
The end is just the way it all begins again
It's all just a journey that never ends...
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