Enigma

Where are we off to go and leap to conclusions? When will we be comfortable for

some more? How will it be to be perfection?

Is it impossible? Before, I walk out the door.

And the clock strikes twelve. And the mirror reflects my weak tired eyes. This is all rhetorical. The light of my halo around my face is more subliminal, yet; subversive. 

Oh my! My weak, tired eyes....

Every now and then I get comfortable; but,

Then I light fire on the inside by my gift of

soulfully singing a melody and harmonize

the entity. The enigma is you....

What a please it is to sing because of you!