The Moment

Thought of as a lack of cacophony
But it’s a matter of identity
And one’s relationship to eternity 

She flies through my arms like a dove
She flies through my heart like a dart
The curve of a woman is her art
Carried by gossamer wings
Through a diaphanous veil she sings 

Why does it contain hardship?
Because it’s not a bag of dope
It’s the throne of hope 

Let me tell you a secret
This wasn’t a man chillaxin’
It was a man needing Venlafaxine
Therefore, he was everyone’s dipshit 

What does he need?
His woman and his weed
The words he wove yesterday
Before his sanity flew away
To stroll through the vaults of heaven
With compassion without leaven 

And his king 

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