Real


No one knows the real me.
How can you see the real me
when all you see is the outside. Why do I feel stupid…
no one thinks I am....
Why am I the one who gets
the last of the first line?
Who has the final say at first?
Do I need the time the world never had?
Do I control the invincible power of the weakness?
How do you know that it's all lies? Lies… lies…

Do you know the truth
In all of the stories no one has ever told?
I am the real me. I know I'm real
In this Babylon of peace, are you in the peace of Babylon
Or is it only big enough for the universe, but not you?

Is piece a peace?
How do you find the first
In the hunt of life when you just ran out of it?
Is this the time of the anonymous people,
Stars of this place?
When was the last time you saw the stars
Of the sky from the inside of my world?
Do I doubt what I was told to my self?
In the stories from the people of the future,
Do we find the past?
How does this even change my life?
The people know no people
If they don't know what it is.
How can people decide
On choices that are given to other choices?

No one knows the real me.
But then there is a time of the place
Where ideas flow through
The walls of the infinite peace
That is found in the chaotic sense in me.
Does this surprise you
That you can't find the soul in this story of you?
Did they notice that I am
The one who finds the peace in the people in them?
What is this about the choices
That no one will ever make but people make the questions for?
Do arrows fall upon the highest mountain?
Can winds blow through the deepest gorge
That knows what they do
In the silences of the microphone that is
In the halls of the forest, in the middle of the desert.
Silence is the loudest speaker,
Unless you are blind in the ways of living your own life.