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I am a realist
I use my brain
But my gut always tells me the right way
Both have logic
But I can't have it
Like a hunter lost in a zoo
But I can't separate the voices
Can't make up my mind
And to figure it out
I don't have the time
Which one is right
And because I must stop a fight
My tongue I must bite
Unless I want to be blue
And decide which way to fly
So instead I choose which seat to sit in
And there I wait
For the day
In which I differentiate the chimes
YOU ARE READING
Puddles of ink
PoetryThe better ones are in the back They aren't out of order but in fact Written along a journey And I'm still intact My reasons for writing Are all compact Into one singularity Which is a simple fact Poetry is art And art a form of expression In ex...
