Politeness veils the truth from prying eyes,
Observing music by the silent lyre,
Which then creates a fog, like misty fire,
Enough to cloak it in a dense disguise.
Reflection bars the knowledge of the Wise,
Obstructing Spirit’s pull, which can inspire
Full life participation: the entire
Sensation seems only to dramatise
Ineffective thinking. Is this my will?
Love knocks, but I sit and wait for Its
Entry yet, without answering the call.
Nonsensical, I know, and yet I’m still
Completely baffled…Have I lost my wits?
Either that or I’m destined for a fall…