To run unconsciously,
seemingly instinctive surges we relate to impulse;
A regenerating rendez-vous,
the question is though, for who?
Where, when, how, what, why:
Too much time, tiring routine, some psychological pattern;
Feels to be nothing but a lie…
Combinations intrigue me, as I piece them together, these familiar questions;
New patterns, paired with varying dimensions which them seem closer to resembling the truth, your truth:
A friend once told me, I had mine, and he had his, and that is the truth.
A criminal of our own cynicism,
Until we take a moment to see it in a state other than theirs,
and its no longer a collective imaginarium of bull,
And we see that it is possible for genuity to succeed as it once preceded the dirt that seems to sweep in unannounced, undenounced, it remained.
No finger to point- blame shift is just another chip on the table and playing the game can be fun,
Remember that it is but a game …
and on that note, as a wise friend once said: so just have fun.