Early morning truth reflects itself perfectly, without fear of being seen.
It is only a lie that fears its own reflection.
More colors of you
I have found more colors of you in the stillness of black and white.
Black and white
Between the black and white
shadows disguised,
open the door
all is hidden inside
Solitude
Only here,
in solitude have I met myself, overcome by my own fragrances.
Only here,
in solitude, I truly see the nature of those around me.
Only here,
the polar rhythms of a world starving, does my soul feel.
When I leave solitude,
the world rushes back in
and
I,
myself,
gone.
Puppets
“Beyond what is seen, lie shadows by which all things operate.” -beth
Half himself.
Half nightmare.
Half dream.
Half truth.
Half lies.
A body of cloth,
heads hollow, designed to be fitted over and over, manipulated by the hand.
They are all an extension of the another.
They follow what has already begun.
They enforce what the other has made possible.
They are the puppets to another’s desire,
They are the story to an already written plot.
Puppets pulled by different strings.
The same cancer, just a different strain.
beth tremaglio 