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A rustle in the leaves, and something I believe in
only when I’m sleeping.
And I may swing from limb to limb and make my home
in the branches of this tree.
Tenebrific tadpole, you’re swimming ’round in circles.
And you may find what I did too in murky pools
and whitewashed tombs yet unexhumed:
that life is like a game, with all the players stuck inside,
and they don’t know who sets the stakes,
and they don’t know who takes the prize,
and all the puzzle pieces’ shapes are replete with tricks and lies,
and some things are decided by
a simple roll of dice.
Drifting through the trees and uncovering their secrets,
a flock is full of regrets.
And sometimes in the sweetest dreams
I stand alone in fields of green
and realize the things I mean to say.
But when the dawn comes,
brings the break of day,
flees every word I say.
The scientist is sacred because he dared to ask why,
and the mathematics prove
that if you bleed then you’re alive.
And truth, she is beautiful, but if you hold her you will die,
so I listen to her siren’s song
and try to close my eyes.