It’s all very different
You know 
The way the sunflowers smells in the morning 
And how the moonlight sonata
Ripples the realms of reality 
Almost as if I was never here
But I remember this uncanny sense of familiarity 
That seems to tie me to a memory 
So overly haunting   
It awakes the ghouls of lost souls 
While stitching together 
The bonds of that which was to be forgotten 
And, In my heart I know this has to be the work of the devil 
Yet, the fragment pieces of his labor 
Alters the sounds of that which was once classic
So,confused to the composition at hand 
I carelessly let the strain of my troubling curiosity dilute itself  
As I find the grace of God among the petals of a sun lit flower
~ Tony Paradise’s Poet ~