I throw their words back,
batting each syllable,
crushing the rhymes with each swing.
the haphazard hobby:
no profit, no purpose;
might as well stop while it's still a lost cause.
bury these ashes, still hot in my mind,
old homes and smothered dreams.
I Reverse.
the lies of the past are transcribed.
heaven painted before me.
the tears of holy ones
splash, technicolor, livening my vision.
their shouts echoing: cacophony. brilliance.
the earth is the last to fall into place,
a better horizon, set to my liking:
a perfect form.
new creation.
now don't blink,
don't ignore this perfection.
it's better than it ever was.
without err, without lies.
with preference comes extension,
and extension is the source of illusion.
just like all else before, perfection is laced with holes,
which are designed to trap the mind.
and begin the creative cycle once again. reality. infinity.