Rye Flower Dance

Seclusion forms into a mountain, Practice acceptance of my reflection, Eye contact with the water of a fountain. Time refuses to push forward if you stop counting, Acting seconds out loud, Life can never falter if I’ve got nothing to amount to. I’m trying to make sense of the seasons, Claimants of my portions try to define my movements. I haven’t been crying, Memories just sneak by my cheeks for unknown reasons, Time calls for my monthly payments, Time to lose arguments. My eyes play movies, My actions are acting against me, That’s treasonous. Bitter sweetness as the days went by, Consent my mind and soul to present control, Maybe autopilot understands decentness. Salt a gin and tonic, It’s too dry. Assault my temple with sin, Be honest, You like the rye. Look me in my honest eye, Conversations with myself are the fondest, No one understands me better when I rhyme. Took a pen and across paper it slides, Scribble out the oddest lines. Apply pressure to the page, Trickle out ink until the pen has died. Wet ink is promised to eventually dry, But tomorrow isn’t promised, For some reason I can’t help but question why?