Each morning,
As I sit down to write
I act as if the fabric
Of reality could bend.
I act as if the universe
Could crack
To reveal, things aren't
What they seem,
And
That If I could
Know what's possible
I'd catch on fire
For the Real.
What is this madness
That's got a hold of me?
God’s after me
Yet every time
I turn to face Him
I disappear.
