Sometimes I know that if life were worth recording,
it would already be...

Those many means of
It – is what we all consider.
So flourish now
as fate arrives
in modern words of wisdom,
what everyone is getting at
with marks of forgoing
from single detail.

Sided Thorns called again when I'm away.
So back to reality, it seems,
back 'cross all lines of the extremes,
as I cannot feel what's held as granted
asking, "Is this still real or's it recanted?"

Life imitates Art,
And art, the purest form of Life.
And just between (Is an Instant)
–Just "Long Enough for Me to Forget."

But "Nothing's Ever Long Enough"...

So as day is light,
I live to write,
And the words are my reflection.