Rhymes out of Time

Words are our vehicles
Expressions of our selves
Rhymes out of time
Birds on a line

Thoughts are our creations
Built from Mind stations
From whence they come
Or where they go
Do we truly ever know?

Life is but a construct of the mind
Pain we suffer
Ours to own
Blackness of the blind

Loneliness a self imposed illusion
Separateness part of the grand delusion
Games we play
As we march through the days

Rhymes out of time
Words hung out to dry on the line

Blues hanging to my shadow
Like an alcoholic to the bar
Darkness consumes me
Like a burnt out star

Years drift on by
Like flotsam and jetsam
Ink on words dries
As time passes by with barely a sigh...