TATTOOS OF DOUBT

When synchronism of time and clock...
does not dock
it becomes a simultaneous tragedy
when the ship of life docks with a strategy
and the image on a mirror starts bleeding
real like red roses on a white carpet
after the truth has cheated deception to be a puppet
like pinocchio whose large nose blew a trumpet
blowing truth away before it could smell it
and the blue paint fades in the sky
as the wish stands after a lie

Walking on slivers would reflect everything
but the reflections sacrifice would abide forever
forever on the cushion of feet for them to sit
away from the waiting audience
whose hope hang at the edge of a cliff
forgetting the smooth precipice of life
which would embrace death warmly before falling off
the arms of a clock should give me hand
to embrace patience until my world ends
when the cloak shall fall at my feet
with the rustle of immortality behind my deeds

When a white rose blooms a thorn
in a blissful instance in a definite lineage of peace
in a quiet manner after an explosion of silence
and innocence swirls happily around the rose
only to prickle the finger
which takes the play to the next level
when reality becomes the main character
and time becomes thief of chance
the clock starts ticking again

The face of time is always painted
creating a gallery of events
which makes the rainbow of life
reminiscence of the past haunts the future
while the present is torn asunder
for no matter the times if casting the dice
the mystery of the moment will always be ice
to freeze certainty away from fiery doubt
singing to its tattoos in radio activity