Denial while accepting truth

is like a lie so born of youth

in all it's wide-eyed symmetry,

the cascades color close

and up and down

and in between

like lover's wrinkles in the seams

that sooner or later unweave

the ties that never die.

A feel of warmth is in the cold,

and meals of lard still feed the old,

while sloppy words can still spell 'gold',

this contradict is like love so.

The feel of letting go can pull

like magnets and the feel of wool

can be so comforting, it's coolness

strangely disputes hot,

and way up high can be so low

if chemicals corrupt the knowing

of a mind so bright, even so

consciousness may fly.

The reeling storm's clouds down bestow

will cleanse the sky, clean up the glow

of sloppy sights to shine like gold.

This contradict is all I know.

Forced out words of what one feels

simultaneously can yield

the spilling of emotions keeled

while bringing calmness still.

And focusing too hard can blur,

while standing back can show the stir

of cruelty and love all at once

as blinds may still unfold.

The feel of storms can bring such cold

yet only through such healing show

an aftermath of sunlight glow,

this contradict is like love so.

The stead of diction over-flow

will somehow through word's lessons show

we'll never know what's all to know,

this contradict is all I know.

Written by Rose Loya, Copyright 2008