The brush of your steps.

"Click". It switched. Unequivocally different. Through those hardships We finally turned around. Perhaps reflections and glimmers Gave us sight when we could not claim But the panoramic put the shimmer To shame. Thank you. In this brilliance we rose Hoping to understand why the routine drifts away in prose For every detail and every insight The neurons kept firing in question, Let us speak for it is time To mark this audacity in rhyme. Although subtle The cues went noticed The portrait tact And yet somehow, Obtruded. But lets digress from these colors Let the light paint our shadow For the steps keep calling with a subtle vibration We know its time.

I wish I knew. ... It's the cyclic passion of a dream, Sucked dry by society's deranged attitude, The essence of a title, Miss Conception. It made no sense but it was the perfect reality, It was the lesson I sought after As a beginner and a master, Bumping up the skymiles, I couldn't go any faster. But cut the dream short, The curtains are closing, the act is over, This isn't some ecstatic fantasy, This is the crude world, its all sprinkled bitter. Don't believe what they're saying The painters had it right for a moment, But that's all it was, It was a frame, that's all we could cherish. In this lyrical endeavor I've cut away the sprinkles, I've left it raw, I've left it bitter. For there is one purpose to this litter, I want you to turn trash into cash. Take in this mash, let it age, Serve it as beer and party my dear, For dealing with stress is a mess And god forbid you taste a crazy IBU. God forbid I step ...