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 ~
