The Pretense of Being Who You Ought to Be.

The distance between my mind and these rhymes,
Is the distance between my eyes and my sight.
Is fades with the fading of my  dimming vision,
It burns with all the majesty of free thought.

Oceans and continents, don't plague in miles,
They plague me in latent the souls they inhabit,
They house the nations of worthy, unworthy and naught;
They carry a verisimilitude of the human kaleidoscope.

How do I live up to the standards of fantasy,
How do I be beautiful, in the way that I ought?
How do I begin to throw my passion to hearth,
And burn in the flames I need to keep me warm?

An embarrassed shuffle not be accused of pretension,
To enthrall the peers, and impress the majestic,
To prove to some diffident stranger of perseverance,
That ought not to be on the pallet of the canvas of life.

Reality does not evade me, nor I flee from it,
I only seek refuge like insomniacs seek sleep.
So keen on finding that shade that is salvation,
That the water in my body has run to drought.

To hold up to the light a shiny fragment of your soul,
To hold up to the world yourself, as transparent as glass.