Tilted

The world always leans sideways

because it spins and never remains the same,

all you have to do is ask anyone,

speak to them for enough moments

and you appreciate that causes dizziness

so normal is a word that doesn’t have any application.

 

We try to compensate by faking logic and reason

make them the foundations for books

with so many devoted to pretending

this weirdness worn as life is really sanity.

 

Then along some the muse

who doesn’t care about all those deluded myths

since she didn’t inspire them,

thus she inspires so many eyes

to see deeper and more profound

than ordinary orbs might see.

 

Only when you lift the twisted veils

others wear as truth

can you end the affliction of naturally insane,

stop playing bent versions of liar’s poker.

 

With quill in hand one opens a door to light

that shines upon so much veracity

though it is never as much fun

as the conjured facts, which pass for reality.

 

Perhaps the poet truly is cursed to have to look

at life with all its honest features,

then paint then for others to appreciate

who may not like the abstract style

if it appears too much

like the person in the mirror.