poetic scribble by Bob Axell 2009


I have a song, but it hides in my brain
It whispers to me that I might not me sane
It buzzes, it fuzzes, a rush, it complains
It strikes me with brushes, with art, can't refrain

From pencils, from crayons, from pens, then again
Our tension, portrayl, comprehenssion, is when
We function, like beings, the tension, us men
Is true when believing, and hence it is sense

With sense we function
It's our addiction
All in conjunction
The fence of fiction

Is French of Spanish
The pain will vanish
When sense we banish
Still tence at heart

The world is whole, yet torn apart
We're in control, it's what we are
The past is close, the future far
And this is why we reason

Through winter, summer, fall, spring
An everchanging season
Or is the world the same, since
We ran away in treason

To find the treasure
I can't find
To search for truth
Within our mind

When we know truth
Is out in place
A planetary balance
Now, erased