Verse

I give metaphorical similes 
That pierce the metaphysical 
As if swallowing a pill that psychoanalysis a metamorphosis of methical beliefs
Too deep to comprehend 
Sending shocks waves that calms tidal waves upon ocean blues 
I frequently ride the highs till the lows wash away
How many comparisons can a writer make before a poet one can create?
Least I label myself 
Before the answer is realized 
I’ll empty my mind of the gems and stone that break glass dwellings
While housing fragile shelling 
Til the reader decides 
Who Am I?
What if the reader is the writer, 
Then so, how do I recite to the audiences?
I’ll take my bow as the certain close
And I snap to my senses 
“Thumb and middle finger”
Snap if you sense this
Breaking the loop of time
Then it lapses and the continuum calpses
Calling me back into place
With a new perspective of space and time
My psyche wanders and my body craves shots of adrenaline 
And hits of dopamine 
To keep my brain at ease
Wearing my emotions on my sleeves
I Roll them up
To cuff the out pouring of thoughts
Coddling the ideas
Before the maturation is put to print
I think
I write
I recite
I rehearse
Then reverse the inverse 
I rewrite 
I challenge verses vs verse
I listen….
And question the concept
When is a vision given life?
Is conception at first thought or in the follow through of the mental view?
Flipping back and forth
Thinking through mental
gymnastics
Exercising reasons to be mentally strong 
Exorcising human plight to do wrong
Publishing my sonnet 
So those that comprehend can come up for air
The deep blue seas are at ease
And all metaphors seem to come together
Like similes
That transformed your beliefs 
And briefly you live in third dimensional realms
Before arriving in reality
Realizing, that “Who am I?”
Is me
-PoeticWells-