"A constantly revolving parallax",
perhaps, describes the nature of my brain,
unpolished precious stone with tiny cracks
where logic begs emotion to refrain
from taking over processes of thought,
where feelings beg of logic, "take a chance",
in both directions all of this for naught,
which serves to fuel insanity’s advance.
I've given all the time I care to give
to finding what my friends would call "a cure"
and, frankly, it is comforting to live
within the northern border of obscure.
The beauty lies in that the beauty lies…
in vain they search the babble for the wise.
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