Suppose I am as real as all that I perceive.
That’s a bold hypothetical! I can’t be sure
If my being has meaning. Prue rage leaves no doubt
That perceptions perceive me. Why do I act out?
All existence to me is an ill with no cure.
If I felt any other way, I’d be naïve.
Is it because it’s Wednesday? I’m mad every day
Because days become vicious then shift into night
Then along comes the next day. All remains the same.
Life plays me like an audio/video game
So the way that I must act must be wrong or right.
Every month, when the moon howls, we both have our say.
Yet, the moon isn’t full now. Have I then misspoke?
It remains full of itself regardless of how
We on earth may perceive it. I guess that’s my point.
Tidal waves, like emotions, are doomed to anoint
Every moment that I have, except for right now
Where all meaning available I may evoke.