Rhyme and Reason In The Season Of Treason

Truth Is My Compass.
My Journey Is Time.
So Much Can Amass.
Such Too Is Sublime.
Truth doesn’t hurt. It’s karma that can harm ya.
So many are afraid of telling or hearing the truth, because of so many lies from spies in disguise not wise to surmise, or using their voice as a choice to stand up against tyranny.
The litany is outrageous as too could be contagious, not a bogus virus but Hilarious Aquarius might quell the spell under which we dwell.
Are you scared of what little liberty you have left, cleft in two, not deft but divided as a fool for the rule, or a tool to quench your mortal desires, rather than wrench free from the fires and topple the steeples and spires of sheeple that hide behind fiction friction and superstition mission?
We have time to fill not kill & be buoyant or flamboyant with a thrill in the season of treason on a rope of reason, sound as a pound on the ground we tread.
Nature is greater than legislature, so pardon my pun as I wrote to tote my gun from a goat. I kid you not nor Spiritually forgot that hope floats a boat.
And what of Time? That Sublime sound you hear ticking like a bomb.
Who can reckon or beckon more to adore less address with aplomb?
Don’t wait too long to sing your song.
Dance naked in your birthday suit, or deem it ripe to gripe instead of plucking some fruit from the family tree we breathe with glee and gaiety.
We too are true a book, unique and oblique so take a look between the covers brothers and sisters, everything is relative & all answer nature’s call whether young or old truth told is gold and stands the test of time.
A measure to treasure and a trove to behove where only madness or resolute reason would rove. As a jack of all trade & master of none, such is a web we weave before we’re done.
I know for one not to shun the Sun or spell of the Moon in tune with mother Earth’s rotation.
Every niggle or giggle a sensation with oration.
Only the lonely will feel apart and not a work of art from the start.
With Punk head and hippy heart my gift is to lift and love to give so swift, as the tide does ebb and return, so too may we all yearn to discern nature’s news and together with the weather be bold as brass, not a mimic of a lyric but embrace & face whatever will come to pass. Metaphysical Migraine - YouTube

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Some great word play in there Meta. Particularly liked the thought on - time to fill not kill.
I’ve found solace in the words myself over the past 12 months, it’s a new found outlet for me and I really enjoy the flow of it.
Appreciate you sharing your art man :+1:t3:

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Thanks Paddy, it’s been a long road but I find my mind and as you say solace in silence without need for violence. Writing and the lost art of communication is being slowly eroded with anti-social media megaphones, clones, drones and close approximations of human beings, hiding behind phones or ‘dog & bones’ of contention, prone alone to cry foul or wolf where there is none.
If only people would get off their high horse or throne and discard the technology they think they own so condone, instead of resorting to retorting with thought sport as ought and common place face to face discourse, the past will last until the future becomes more of a present worth opening.

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