My ring-a-ring-o-roses,
Jiving queen,
Whose Mona Lisa
Smile serene,
Confides her secret,
There to glean,
The invisible hides
In what is seen.
PATHWAY
It never was
The mere computation
Of cold probability,
Only for the seeing,
But sparks of fire,
Exploding,
Above a sea
Of volatile tears,
Feeling their way
Into being,
Countless years
Of new tomorrows,
Baby steps of desire,
Confounded,
By the tripwire of morality.
The mere computation
Of cold probability,
Only for the seeing,
But sparks of fire,
Exploding,
Above a sea
Of volatile tears,
Feeling their way
Into being,
Countless years
Of new tomorrows,
Baby steps of desire,
Confounded,
By the tripwire of morality.
TOP PRIORITY
Every question has a rainbow hue,
Not pertaining to just this,
Or just that,
But like a spinning top,
It is the whole,
Balanced,
On a point.