logic, a cold comfort, a familiar friend,
a world of numbers, precise and unending
but words, oh words, they dance and they soar
a universe of thought, i yearn to explore
a promise of choice, a gentle deceit
a path laid out, a future complete
America, a dream, a distant star,
but science, the key, to open the bar.
a heart in conflict, a mind confined,
betrayed by those who should console
torn between passion and what they decree,
a prisoner of logic, yearning to be free.
YOU ARE READING
secrets from the lair
Poesiean anthology of bad poetry, but who cares [the lowercase letters all throughout are intentional, they're not grammatical errors]
