All the Same
Too many times
we live in someone else's
make believe.
Truth really isn't that hard
to conceive
we spend too much time
consummating
someone else's cares.
So much time wasted
in our head,
there's never enough day
to act on changed minds.
Starting again
in the same sun rise
always surprised
by yesterday's acts.
Hearts dead set
on what ought to be.
Never considering
who you are to me.
A difficult problem
to define but always an answer
I can name.
Wrap my fingers around
and caress it ever so simply.
From atoms in the physical
to energy in my mental
the answer falls like rain
and never stains this knowing.
Gifted from the spiritual,
passed through metaphysical,
and accounted as a glitch
of what should not be.
Still the answer remains clear.
No one else has to believe
my make believe.
Can you feel it?
The way your soul shifted
and absorbed the brightness
of your facial expression.
How in the world
could anyone answer that?
I guess it doesn't hurt to ask.
But it's known all the same
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