The Trio Dreaming

Oh, speak to me a soliloquy,

Wander us in a syllabet, a sickle, and a scythe,

I know and I know and I know

The beginning and the middle and the end,

But naught that lays between.

I’ve lost the twisting, for I know that knowledge,

All its species, they tunnel betwixt and between

In Habsburgian entangling engaged,

For all’s philosophy, all paths

Lead to beliefs that contradict and lie with others.

You see your own reflected back,

For the ignorant see only deep as their minds will allow,

Though the end extends eternal,

Should you dip a hand within,

Stone shall meet your fingertips.

Permit me peel the next skin of self-deceit

From me, for I know and I know and I know

My mind’s spit upon the spoke

Within the wanderings of time,

Bespoke, begotten, bitter and beholden

To mine own and everyone else’s.

Stir a finger in the viscous rush of time

To taste your humanity through the ebb and flow

Of that miscreant, perception.

Speak the scythe, as the syllabet demands,

The sickle lying infantile for

Your and mine’s successors.

Soliloquize sweeter, permit deceit its veiling

Once more as you slip from off the spoke.