With a silence of Heart
Too many idle to start
There's the chilledest conscience
A devout, rationed science
Lost of the essence
A scent no sooner nostalgic
Than forgotten as lore Art.
This phenomenon deep lysergic
Basic, rooted in consciousness
Yet so easily overlooked,
Cooked in rumination like
Imagination, this faltering genuineness.
Genuity essentially the aim,
How dare we tempt but tame,
This firey passion within,
Might ingenuity arise less thin.
Such subtleties of reason
A jest reality thus actualized
Designed for every season
Lest final became realized.
Baby Einstein signing off. Thanks for reading!
