Undoing every punch
Lock my voice inside a dial tone of conflicting passions
Is it ok to cry?
or should I call?

It’s a curious thing when you let these buried phantoms master you

They reappear and sweep you up
into uncharted territories unknown

As you sit and stare at their ghost of a memory
Reflecting the dimensions of yourself
Smiling happily
knowing you have worked on yourself

Dissecting the luminosity of your youth
Naive innocence
Still there
No faded imagery or idea
too far away to be..
Believed
All is possible
in the mirror
of another world
or so it seems…