Life is sweet and sour

You were a butterfly

fluttering in the headlights

of a car.

A wolf looking up at the stars

and crying to the moon

a vigil for the resurrection

a epiphany born of introspection.

sad souls are bought and sold

the tired get old.

cold frozen hands

cut the cloth

to form gloves

We lose our love

in the pursuit of what drives us.

arriving in the arms

of a woman’s charms

love, sex and capitalism’s false religion

got us sitting in our own supermarket in superstition

old mechanisms for control

they own our souls

freedom is for fools anyway

enslave yourself pave your own path

the aftermath of life isn’t death

it’s a body, a cage without breath

or is it that the soul

wants to look with wonder

and ponder

it’s own reality

it’s sweet and sour.

The fabric of our being

Two eyes that see

One heart that feels

Is the soul real?

Or do we have an existential crisis?

in the very fabric of our being

I suppose that’s the cost of dreaming.

Reality is stranger than fiction

it is my addiction

to believe in both dreams and reality

but both are restrictive

because both our limited to habits and thoughts

and we are caught

in their spiders web.