Delusional Dreamer

Your perception is your reality. 
No exception to finality.
Within each individuality, 
there lies a circumspect duality. 
 
A canopy of fireflies light making way through dark 
whose music rests on eager ears like melodies from harps
Like the bird who flies through dawn, a member of the lark 
A resting place with nests of twigs, a beauty in the art. 
 
A process dies while it’s alive 
Abandoning the ship 
The mast sails 
The wind wails 
Tightropes crack like whips 
 
The body knows 
the mind grows 
from memory and through time 
for that rose is still a rose 
it’s beauty still sublime. 
 
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About Maya

I like words like "labyrinthian," "kerfuffle," and "serendipitous" because they're mellifluous. I love poetry, pumpkin ales, sangria, long summer days, Fall foliage, going out of my way to step on crunchy leaves in October, live music, Jazz, Salsa dancing, theater, film (foreign and indie), the arts (myriad varieties), dance (in theory and practice) and any place where I can sit outdoors and take it all in.
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