aMUSEing: Poetry for ya Head

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***

The map and the terrain are never the same

and dead birds are just a myth

because the sights in our eyes are lies in the mind,

the only sense external comes within.

In the space where we be the path unfolds three

whether we believe it or not.

So while the road be fraught

with unusual thoughts,

the oil lamp lights the stream.

In that delicate dance

of tension and chance

we find that the work never wares;

so when that last breath is taken

we won’t be mistaken

that the timing is any less than fare. 

The map and the terrain are never the same

and all ways are relative to self,

because the steps that we make take us farther away

while we move steadily home anyway.