The past melts in with the present
The future dangles in the distance.
A picture can be confusing
The sense of the present
Bent to shape a past
That aches for a future
When souls come together
Making sense of the nonsense
That life throws at you.
Reality has a nasty habit
Throwing it back in your face
And the clown of fate
Roars with a voice
Sending shudders down your spine.
In the small recesses of your mind
Commonsense struggles to make itself heard
But provides the fine gold thread,
The finishing touch to life’s tapestry.