there was a time I had the time to play with rhyme all day and then the time came 'pon a time when time drifted away and with it rhyme and smiling time as tears fell on my play the curtain closed and no one knows'd in the end what'd I say.

if no one hears your silence when you scream, perhaps it all happened within a dream of poetic license granted deep past time and space and life and death and sleep.

the gift is not of value to the mind until you know the story left behind when every word anyone ever knew gave birth to at least one word that came true and prophesy is only what you see after time paints the line to history.

and this will be and that will be and then the story will repeat over again and any truth you're likely to receive is based on the story you may believe.

everything will happen some time then what matters after all the time of when, then prophesy is only what will be when a line is drawn to memory and belief in any dream that came true creates a prophesy out of the blue.