To believe in the chemical of blackness,
A slight of light in the sky, turns out to be a fool’s romance.
Which means stars are a gift from distance,
Not a shooting mirage, viewed by chance.
The past is the past until it doesn’t last,
When does it start catching up to you?
The answer is never,
if you endeavor to end history prematurely.
Get off, get on the ride
Both a form of suicide
Dont just weep on seeing the sheep,
Wander to your own haven
Where thoughts are enslaved
And banished on the grounds of rationality.
Can never change a believer
Unless doubt breeds from within,
Then belief becomes a story
An ugly fairy tale
That grew its roots in truth
But no longer serves a purpose
Other than a reminder
Imagination has a sensation
That lends itself to emotional illusion.