Scales fell from my eyes
when Saul gave Paul up
the down staircase.
Kiss Grace goodbye,
my friend, my lever.
Kiss your piece goodbye.
Night has fallen forever.
For two years
the number 3
has held magic
between the lines
of the mind.
All it takes
is the knowledge
of the cry,
and the jags of the dance
cease to flirt
with blind lying bravado.
How can I get back to --
for myself -- the land of promise?
Of fields verdant fruits abundant.
Reveling in innocence pure.
Shall I exile my soul
tonewandbetterfutures?
Will we ever know which is better?
Bitterness blinds the search.
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