The I-Scope

Writing I weave my world in fabric time From words that fleshed bubbled eternity Something like catharsis pen my rhyme Without devotion to success or flattery The bubble is a cage, a transparent glass The veil that shows and conceals reality I write until the sound through it will pass And light forever wears its distinct virginity And every syllable of her being spells my lines And at the period she is done, and I extinct Wave upon wave merged in undilated confines For Einstein and Hawkings this faith is succint.