Infused by the Illusion of Insanity…

Diffused is the timer of the nuclear fission,

Gonna get myself on down to the water & go fishin’,

Powerful though it may seem, “the bomb”, is nothin’,

In comparison to the power of the writers imagination…

Power we do have,

Writing the strength of our personal decisions,

So strong our pens, our papers do crumble,

We do so many times, the world does rumble,

Under the weight of our crushed & discarded paper…

Find we have, find we must, our purpose in life,

That being to write, to see through the tall grass,

To find who we are, when we are who we seem to be,

To see us not for the trees but for the insanity of especially me…

Where do we come from, where do we head?

Are we alike in all that is herein said?

Can we continue with what we have in the past done?

Can we see that writing is really mostly more than just fun?

                                © ed ~ 8/11/04