Archive | September 2018

Yosemite Sham

TheMagicRealist.com

Shut that Judybox off! I cain’t hear myself speech!
Say yer prayers, ya darned varmints, ‘cause we’ve had enough.
The wild west will get wilder when I take this town.
I will teach you galoots to all bow to my frown.
Women must tell their story, but men must be tough.
What I sez is darned gospel, so that’s what I preach.

I smells Truth. It’s a-cookin’. But I ain’t a-scared.
I got bullshit and man power on my good side.
On my bad side there’s nothing that can be found out.
If the Truth speaks too clearly, I will simply shout.
And this issue of perjury is not applied
To someone who is visibly honor impaired.

‘Ain’t no flea-bitten bilge rat in my gnarly past
Who would dare double cross me. It ain’t on their minds.
At least, that’s what I hope. I’d be barnacle bit
By the buttocks and short hairs if some should commit
To contributing to what the FBI finds.
Until then, I can pray that I am not typecast.

Dominant – Recessive Hand Syndrome

TheMagicRealist.com

If I cannot use both hands, what’s happened to me?
I’m not left when I’m right in the mirror of shame.
So why is the reflection a perilous sight?
Can I get this position through fury and might?
Have ye shivered me timbers and am I to blame?
I have nothing to do but to just wait and see.

Will I rule heavy handedly on the high court?
None but I know the answer, but others may guess
That I’ll treat human rights issues as I do trash
And, through some means, that I’ll line my pockets with cash.
But my soul is pure white. I’ve no sins to confess.
Blatant psychotic rage marks my will to retort.

When I was a young virgin I drank a few beers.
Why this has become paramount I cannot know.
On the one hand, I’m empty; the other… I’m full
Of professional prowess and self-righteous bull.
I am not ambidextrous. This blemish does show.
Will I emerge triumphant or dash women’s fears?

Mysticism And The Occult

TheMagicRealist.com

All of life is dichotomous, and life is all.
That’s the basis of knowledge and all to beheld.
Within knowledge and knowing, there’s that which is not
To be known without being. When locked in the plot
Of the drama of consciousness, I am compelled
To become all about it. This then is my call.

To contact and to interact with the unseen
Is the purview of both schools. In that, they’re the same.
I’m aware of the mystical. It is a state
Wherein I am connected as I contemplate
Pure existence. Contentment is its only aim.
Blending in with the greater good is what lives mean.

The occult, somewhat different, is meant to control.
To manipulate forces with gestures and speech…
Incantations or symbols – this is the desire
Of well-tempered occultists. What they may acquire
Are some insights that no other methods can reach.
Though some mystics would say this is bad for the soul.

Lying Star Choir

TheMagicRealist.com

We mistreat a fine angel who walks upon earth
By not seeing he’s perfect in every which way.
He’s a nice guy… mild-mannered and with a cool head
Meant to judge with a heart that is rooted in dread.
Did our battered choir boy throw a tantrum today?
Is the innocent girl coach deficient in mirth?

If a judge on an interview acts like a ‘bitch’
And she’s female, her ass would be escorted out
To ensure that none present are exposed to harm.
When a male does, it more so should sound an alarm.
What has given this white man protection from doubt?
Why has such mundane business become a sales pitch?

Should The Court be a choir? In one way it should.
We The People are one voice of manifold tone.
And The Court can reflect that. No voice should be loud.
To our system of justice all can be avowed.
In some time a star liar will fall from his throne.
Even with confirmation the outlook is good.

Talking Heads

TheMagicRealist.com

Talking heads talk to talking heads throughout the day
About all that is newsworthy. People must know
Every detail of tragedy as it takes place.
Media will abuse you and shout in your face
Just to get the damned story to air on their show
Before anyone else does. Why is this our way?

Talking heads are paid big bucks to say what they say
Because they have been saying things for a long time.
They are qualified heads… some with talking degrees
And with egos attuned to sharp shooting the breeze
Yet, without common decency, talk is a crime.
It helps keep women silent and truth locked away.

I don’t want to come forward. I’m not made of steel.
Neither are my young children and our privacy.
I can’t count on our congress to safeguard my word.
If the FBI checks things, why is that absurd?
Trust and faith in my system is quite hard for me
And my strong sense of duty reflects how I feel.

Heart Decay

TheMagicRealist.com

Hide behind the fine children and dutiful wife.
That’s how most play the card game of optics these days.
Your damned daughters and spouse cannot make you look good.
That they are not the applicant is understood
Well by everyone. Is your intent to amaze
And parlay for that justice position for life?

What they’re hiding I would not allow in my yard.
I’ve respect for the bugs and worms who slither there.
Any privileged white boy who learns how to lie
Can grow up to be SCOTUS. Do give it a try.
If your views about women do make you unfair,
It is only too right if we push back, and hard.

One can diagnose heart decay in your background
Whether seen by the good doctor or tarot deck
Or by members of congress who are themselves ill.
Men can make women suffer and get a sick thrill.
A frat boy in a robe is one lethal redneck.
We The People insist something better be found.

Women are coming forward. Man can be The Beast.
This is known by all women who have been abused.
I’d assume there are many who linger in pain
As they know coming forward invites the insane.
When some Old White Man calls an accuser ‘confused’
Then we’ve not learned our lessons… no, not in the least!

Watch The Miracle Happen

TheMagicRealist.com

It’s a miracle that I have made it this far
In a world of much color and lots of fresh air.
And the sound of my breath can put me in a trance.
I don’t think that I’m random and placed here by chance.
As I focus my breathing, nothing can compare
To the peaceful state I will reach. I’m up to par

When it comes to escaping… I will do my best
With so simple a process of power supreme.
God grows me from the inside and works his way out
So it’s easy to find him, not having to shout.
Could the miracle be to live life as a dream?
That would be the whole point, as through him, we are blessed.

Miracles are a normal thing. They are not rare.
It is when they don’t happen that something is wrong.
I just need to make myself aware of such things
And the blessings that time out for deep breathing brings.
Afterwards I will feel that I truly belong.
One who lives by the miracle lives without care.

Look At Everything The Way It Is

TheMagicRealist.com

Do I decorate raw truth to improve its looks?
There’s a reason expressions of color take hold
And reshape my mind as if it were softened clay.
Using adjectives is what folks do every day.
Much of discourse is bullshit without the blindfold.
It will pass as nonfiction, so people write books.

 Two friends met after twenty years being apart.
One declared to the other, “I’m doing quite well.
I’ve a Mansion in Meaningville and a mink stole.”
Said the other, “That’s Wonderful!” That is her role

Because she went to charm school. She is trained to tell
Everyone things are ‘wonderful’ right from the start.

Whether mountain or mole hill, they both are the same
Through the lens of reality and nothing more
Than the will to see clearly all things as they are.
One big challenge in life is to not to stray far
From what I am observing. Is this such a chore?
If I am misperceiving things, I am to blame.

How To Succeed

TheMagicRealist.com

There are two basic forces at play within me.
One is self-preservation – the need to build walls
To keep that which is not self from taking what’s mine.
Separation is useful. In it I define
A safe structure. The ego self rarely recalls
Where it last left its faith in things that it can’t see.

At the same time, expansion does motivate me.
I must break through the walls that define who I am.
This does seem rather opposite, yet it is fact.
They’re two sides of the same coin with meaning intact.
To detach from what’s limited is a program
I would do well to follow and most faithfully.

To succeed is to balance these two forces well.
Walls are built to be broken then built up again
And again until all involved come to some sense
That there’s no movement forward with all the expense.
I can say I’m successful, and truthfully, when
I can grow far beyond self, yet within self dwell.

Father And Son

TheMagicRealist.com

Family is like the mafia. It is a crime
When, organically, we’ve cut a deal to be here.
Family should remain loyal. Blood ties should be strong.
When we outgrow biology, we get along
Much more amicably with the ones we hold dear
And our moments together will endure through time.

Pledge allegiance to one’s own. Is this nature’s rule?
It is true, and it limits all that I can be
If I give it importance that it can’t deserve.
If my guidance is wanting, does that strike a nerve
In the pit of my being? Most regrettably,
If I claimed to be worthy, I would be a fool.

Man must have a young buddy to carry his name…
Someone he can be tough with and tender as well.
Often times there is friction as he comes of age.
When he must outperform you he’ll find his own stage.
As the decades march forward warm stories they’ll tell.
I do learn this in hindsight and feel little shame.

Don’t Believe, Don’t Disbelieve

TheMagicRealist.com

Will I be born again? Have I been here before?
These are questions I could ask, or I could care not.
My keen eyes don’t have vision. It’s me who’s inside,
Just as windows can see things. It’s they who reside
Squarely on one side of them. Is this what is taught?
How I wish this were so. Then we’d suffer no more.

I know I’m not my body. It is loaned to me
By the Mother of all matter born of this place.
When the loan time expires, I will pay it back.
She’s the best at collection. She keeps perfect track
Of all molecules managed in her time and space.
I exist to incur the loan most frequently.

This is only a story to those who have not
Had the kinds of experience to offer claim.
Don’t believe in the story if it makes no sense.
But don’t disbelieve either for your own defense.
To consider what’s said to you is not a shame.
Wise is one who observes and is open in thought.

Children And Teachers

TheMagicRealist.com

‘It’s a living.’ Some conclude that this is the case
As they try to make ends meet and pay off their loans.
It is stressful to work eighty hours per week
When their students’ wellbeing is all that they seek.
The most effective teacher is someone who owns
That our young are most valuable to the whole race.

It should not be ‘a living,’ yet we make it so
Through glitches in the systems that lock teachers out.
Education/Production… They both are the same
To the bodies that rule in the financial game.
Children should be what child-rearing is all about.
Teachers’ pay should reflect that for all that they know.

Does this make too much sense? Is this why it’s not done?
Something must be amiss in our handling of things.
If we had volunteer teachers, would that bode well?
They should have wealth already so in calm they dwell.
If we can’t treat our children as if we were kings
We should not welcome them until growth has begun.

Being Human Is Super

TheMagicRealist.com

Do I like being human? The question is moot.
Sometimes I feel like Superman; sometimes I’m weak
With my grip on reality. Nevertheless,
I delight in the wonder that I may express
Without effort. There’s no sense in my feeling meek,
As my writing, at times, can seem rather astute.

But is this an illusion? It’s human, at least,
To believe I control things to mitigate fear.
I can make it my costume and face the stiff wind,
Then hope that my identity is not chagrined.
When it’s found I’m no hero, will my fans still cheer?
When in tune with my nature, is my fame increased?

If I learn how to manage my thinking and heart,
Then I know that my actions are taken care of.
If I can do all this, then I can stroll through hell,
And find it of scant interest, but no place to dwell.
Humans are possibilities to express love.
Thinking ‘I’m only human’ is not thinking smart.

A Sweet Relationship

TheMagicRealist.com

There is sweetness and bitterness carefully mixed
In a strong psychic potion that makes the heart glow.
It begins rather physical. Senses behold
Possibility for chemistry to unfold.
Those in tune with their natures cause blessings to flow.
When in each other’s presence the two are transfixed.

One cannot extract sweetness from some other soul.
If you place such a burden on someone you love
Then resentment will fester until such a time
That it comes to the surface where it will begrime
What had once been as pure as the white turtle dove.
Those who tend to be needy cannot meet their goal.

Your expression of joy is your best loving gift
To your partner, deserving of all who you are.
Sweetness comes from the inside when one feels alive.
If two lovers can know this true love will survive.
When in wholesome commitment, no dream is too far.
Both will have but the will and the joy to uplift.

Dimensions Of Mind

TheMagicRealist.com

There are many dimensions of the human mind.
To be very specific, they number sixteen.
Those of Eastern tradition adopt this belief
While the West waxes mindless, befuddled by grief.
Sixteen bank accounts may make a person feel green
Even if sixteen dollars is his worth combined.

Broken down into four, it’s a much simpler task.
There’s the Intellect which is a double edged sword.
It can dissect a problem or cause lethal harm
And sometimes it’s a challenge for it to disarm.
It’s a tool that, when misused, can cause some discord.
For a while, it’s a beacon; then it’s a death mask.

There’s Identification with all that one knows
Whether it is illusion, delusion or fact.
There is Memory conscious in each living cell.
Everything that the species knows, each cell knows well.
The dimension of Being is rather abstract.
It is purest in essence, as nothing it shows.

It’s not I who’s informative. It is my race,
Both prolific and human. Perhaps I’m its voice,
Not opposed to explaining things that I have learned.
If I write from the ego, no fame will be earned…
Nor from otherwise. I live life’s drama by choice
At this point. No kind act shall reveal my disgrace.

Hour Of Power

TheMagicRealist.com

A town meeting at church about big power poles
Planted like picket fencing perplexing the hood…
And some talk of class action and possible hope…?
Why was I told to come here? …To learn I can’t cope
With utility giants? This does me no good.
I cannot be the victim whom someone controls.

Precise gentrification of historic lands
Through the use of big power distributed wide
Across networks with nodes interlinking tight threads…
Perhaps thousands of kilovolts will fry our heads.
Decreased property values are taken in stride
As the needs of the greedy remain what commands.

‘Twas a power drain hour – a time to sit still
And pay damned close attention to all that was said
From those convinced they’re victims who need to be saved
Through good-luck litigation. We’re better behaved
If we deal with our issues on our own instead.
Where there’s wanting, there’s always the means to fulfill.

Solicitors, Knock At Your Risk

TheMagicRealist.com

I’m not running for office and neither are you.
And I know you don’t think this is Beverly Hills.
I don’t need my damned soul saved. It’s doing just fine.
You’re a fool if you think I don’t know the divine.
Most professional pests seem to get their cheap thrills
With their in-your-face tactics and hullabaloo.

My FICO score isn’t at mark of the beast
And that’s none of your business. Don’t patronize me
With your slick condescension. I hear very well
Hidden language that lurks where the sea plankton dwell.
Just because I exist you won’t charge me a fee.
Those who prey on the poor see their profits increased.

I don’t need my damned lawn mowed, dear neighbor of mine.
Your con game is as thick as the prick in the suit.
Keep your eyes off my yard and my yard off your mind.
Your kind gardening guidance is of your behind.
When to all I’m considered a tree bearing fruit
I’ll assume all are hostile rather than benign.

The Service

TheMagicRealist.com

Who avails of The Service? Look at the bell curve,
With many at the center and few at the ends.
It’s not poor ones nor rich ones, but those in-between
Who partake of the process, because they have seen
What a burden new life is. On she it depends.
There’s demand for The Service and for those who serve.

It is all about sex lives, convenience and things
Others would judge as selfish and of barren heart.
But we scorn not the many. We lecture the poor
At one end of the spectrum. All they want is more
Just as anyone finding the need to depart
From unplanned deep commitment and all that it brings.

When you think of The Service, as this much is known,
Should there be a commitment to see with more light
Toward all women in general for who they are?
The whole question of ‘choice’ is one rather bizarre.
We may think that we know what is wrong and what’s right.
Take a look at the numbers and see what is shown.

World And Local Leaders

TheMagicRealist.com

The best folks aren’t in leadership. Is this the case?
And are we derelict in our putting them there?
Our democracy means each of us is the boss.
We’re the ones who have crafted a game of dice toss
Through our indolence or simply out of despair.
If we care not to vote, all are in a bad place.

That’s not all that we all can do. We can all act
As the HR department, collectively so.
The system does have instruments that we can use
To shape government according to our own views.
If a leader thinks he should rule, then he must go.
That is Our job assignment – not fiction, but fact!

It’s a two-party system we’ve put into place.
We have mixed oil and water as much as we can.
It is futilely feudal, our democracy,
When through party alignment we must disagree.
We can choose a good leader who has a good plan.
There is much about democracy to embrace.

Who Decides My Life?

TheMagicRealist.com

Some old man up there put me here. That’s what I’ve heard.
Among those who are like me, should that make much sense?
Who decides where I’m going and who I should be?
That would only be me. I should think you’d agree.
I decide what I’m doing at my own expense.
I seek out what is choicest from what is preferred.

People die of starvation. Did they make it so?
This is such a hard question. The answer is yes.
One’s decisions are shaped by one’s life circumstance.
And in tough situations, we’re given the chance
To emerge all the stronger. Life is a process
That involves interaction so that I may grow.

People also can die from consuming too much.
Our most personal choices are long to play out.
I can make the decision that I’ll do my best
To be more conscious of them and seldom be stressed.
My decisions control my life without a doubt.
I must therefore refine them to soften my touch.

How Important Is Thought?

TheMagicRealist.com

People sometimes complain I’m too much in my head.
This is true, and I know it. Is it a good thing?
Thinking is for engaging the physical plane.
If one goes far beyond that, he might go insane.
Nothing of existential value it can bring.
And when in search of wisdom, the mind is misled.

Too much value is placed on the thinking process.
Some old fart, way back when, said: I think; so, I am.
Well, he was, and he is now and shall ever be
But a fountainhead of Western philosophy.
Just because someone is, does the world give a damn?
We make much of our thinking the means to success.

Thinking can get addictive if it makes one high.
It has social significance. With other minds
One can start a big movement and trigger some change.
I am, so, I think, and this doesn’t sound strange.
I’m awash in deep feelings of various kinds,
And my thoughts are a small thing to help me get by.

If You Have A Child

TheMagicRealist.com

If you do have a child, life can sometimes get wild,
But it needn’t. Although there is lots of advice
From the many child specialists with all their books,
What cannot be expressed well, the book overlooks.
What determines if they will be naughty or nice
Is their own generation and times they have styled.

Much that you want to teach them, they already know
On an unconscious level. Most naturally
They will shy away from that which may cause them harm.
If mistakes are made, there is no cause for alarm.
Make the nest too well feathered, then they will not see
The potential within them to help them to grow.

Little children must know that ten fingers have they.
I would rather they’re taught how to use them instead.
Take you child out in nature and let him behold
All the wonder of life in its splendor untold.
Facts and figures are fanciful fluff for the head,
But they can, in fact, leave the mind in disarray.

Love your child when he knows not what you’ve taught him well.
He is not here to live your life nor work for you.
He will make his own path. You can’t point out his way.
You can fully support him in life, come what may.
To give loving acceptance is all you can do.
You have given him platform. His story he’ll tell.

One Who Feels Down And Out

TheMagicRealist.com

One who feels down and out as if squeezed through a spout
Of a sphincteric nature need not fret alone.
There are many who feel the same. And what they do
Is to find an escape hatch that they can crawl through.
Either that or they find a way to somehow own
Circumstantial fecality nestled in doubt.

 I look fine in the mirror, at least wearing clothes.
They obliterate nothing that gives me away.
How I feel is the question – not how others see.
I’m eternally grateful that I can be me.
If I feel like I’m lying in this that I say
Then there’s work to be done on myself, I suppose.

It’s another off day. I’m not feeling in sync
With the heart of the cosmos and neighbors and such.
This is not a big deal for me. It will soon pass.
I’ll respect the momentum of relative mass.
Comfort is in detachment and keeping in touch
With the part of oneself that one knows doesn’t stink.

Both Sides Now

TheMagicRealist.com

Dems protest our social ills.
The Grand Old Party thwarts their wills.
Divisive is one who instills contention day by day.
Most leaders promise change will come…
If not to most, at least, to some.
No change will come to lowlife scum if leaders have their way.
Who looks at change from both sides now?
I surely can’t. I’m thwarted somehow.
My own illusions are quite tall.
Perhaps I don’t know change at all.

Gut wrenching stories true to life
Expressed by people who know strife…
The disenchanted man and wife… Who yields unto their plea?
Not those who sit in places high.
Most human rights they would deny
If all in favor would comply with group insanity.
Who looks at hell from both sides now?
Who stews alone with sweat on his brow?
Will mad illusions brace his fall?
Right now, he knows not hell at all.

One’s nightmare is another’s dream.
Things rarely are quite as they seem.
Our system has embraced a scheme to undermine the deeds
Of he who has become insane.
I’d hope their efforts aren’t in vain.
Some look upon them with disdain, but stronger are the needs
Of those who have seen both sides now.
Tyranny we cannot allow.
What is most urgent is our call.
I really think there’s hope for all.

On The Creation Of ‘Vine’

TheMagicRealist.com

Now, it seems I’m a playwright. I’m having a blast!
And I’m proud of directing. It is my first time.
It’s been years since I’ve done this, and now, among friends,
We can craft good theater. Our success depends
Only on our believing we’re ready for prime.
People should take delight in a well-seasoned cast.

This is also my debut for acting a part
Whom I myself fashioned from somewhere in me.
Most of us act as flowers. My part is a Vine.
Somewhat odd in the garden, his heart is benign.
It’s a play to make flowers the powers that be
And to give true compassion a healthy jump-start.

Vine is absent his mind and seems one of a kind
Yet he needs to be noticed and ignored as well.
He does blend well, eventually, but not at first.
It may seem he may try things to see if he’s cursed.
We shall know that our message is clear as a bell.
Love is wholesome theater for those so inclined.

Can Yoga Cure Disease?

TheMagicRealist.com

There are two types of ailments. Infectious is one.
That means something outside of me made its way in.
It may act with a consciousness all of its own.
Pharmaceutical treatments may make me drug prone.
Logic would seem to dictate that’s where to begin.
Both enter from the outside to make an end run.

Chronic ailments, however, occur from inside.
In this case, it’s the body that makes itself sick.
Why on earth would my body attack me this way?
Has my mistreatment of it caused it to betray?
There’s some misunderstanding. To be specific,
On a cellular level, something is denied.

All it needs is some balance. It gets that within.
Everything that the body needs, it has on store.
If it doesn’t, it makes it from things that I eat
And from infinite wisdom. Indeed, I’m complete
In the sense that my body is its own doctor.
The best cure for most ailments is under my skin.

Akashic Cloud Storage

TheMagicRealist.com

I’m confused, and I should be, as well as content.
That means I am still searching, through dawn’s early light,
For some deep understanding beyond what is flesh
Wherein hard fact and spirit can easily mesh.
We are made the recording by our own birthright
Into firm physicality for fulfillment.

The Akash is an ether, but unlike the sea,
It links many dimensions that dare to be known.
I’m aware of my grossness of physical form.
It looks like it has weathered a horrific storm.
Can I look far beyond that and thereby postpone
An event unbecoming my reason to be?

I am things that are subtler. There’s lots of space
Between atoms. I’m also essentially wet.
I burn fuel and make heat, and I do that each day.
There is much less confusion in thinking this way.
I contain basic elements. Need I forget
That the force that enables me is not of place?

We are at once the record and whom which records.
Like sea coral, we imprint experience on
The fabric of existence. Pure wisdom it holds.
Truthful permanence permeates as it unfolds.
What remains of one’s being when this life is gone
Will take note of what living has moved the soul towards.

Acute Fear Of Failure

TheMagicRealist.com

Failure is an abstraction dependent on fear.
As it can be well crafted, it can be undone.
Before my self-undoing, I dare to swing high.
Should it be of concern that someday I will die?
Is there sense to one’s living if it’s not begun?
Would it matter had I something real to hold dear?

All of life is a steppingstone to only more
Of whatever I’ve held onto up until now.
I can alter the nowness, therefore, how I go
With my life without having to strut through a show.
I’ll act out my performance and then take a bow.
Within triumph and downfall there’s much to explore.

I’ll do well with my planning and setting my goal.
It’s a worthwhile activity to stay in shape.
But it’s also a huge hindrance to my soul growth.
Should my goal be to honor and integrate both?
It’s my self-condemnation I need to escape
And my gift of free will that I need to extol.

Righteous Nicety

TheMagicRealist.com

I will call you my sweetheart, but what’s in a name
When someone of sheer beauty defies such a thing?
Do not call me romantic. That is a name too,
For someone who is head over heels about you.
I’m not good at name calling. My true heart I bring
To my lover whom I hope will do just the same.

Just because it’s September, that hardly can mean
I can’t offer confection to my heart’s delight.
Noble knights do seek honor as currency for
The affections of fair maidens whom they adore.
I’ll respect you as equal, but it’s quite alright,
If you will, that I court you like on the big screen.

Let me love you, my darling, however I can.
If with flowers and chivalry, let it be known
That my love is as limitless as both are we.
Let us play our parts well, then in bliss we will be.
As two birds of a feather, forever we’ve flown.
We were meant for each other since being began.

Can I Heal Myself?

TheMagicRealist.com

I was once just a small thing – a fertilized cell
In my mother’s warm body. That’s how I became.
I have nothing to do with my being alive,
Nor with where to find love and how best to survive.
I and that which maintains me are one and the same.
I’ve a body that serves me and functions quite well.

It has innate capacity to itself heal.
It needs no outside influence to make it well.
The magnificent body has knowledge supreme.
It will manage my mismanaging to extreme.
Anything it may want, it has wisdom to tell
Its commanding assistant who knows how to feel.

If I eat a small piece of bread, it will become,
Within hours, a part of me. This is a feat
Most miraculous. I can put down the iPhone
And get back to the ‘I’ with some time left alone
So that I find contentment in soulful retreat
Wherein I may align to the beat of my drum.