The Real Truth

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I've recently gotten a book of prose and poetry published called A TIme for Truth: Understanding Self that basically celebrates the art that lies in each and everyone of us. I call that art the TRUTH that embodies our souls. The expression of our art (and I use the term ‘art’ loosely) helps define our purpose. Thus, once we submit to truth, purpose follows.

We get with this Then we get with that She has big breasts,  But she don't really have an ass Not satisfied enough for it to last So you leave her in the past  Just to get a new misses And we say we do it all for practice  Emotions at war  My heart is on the front line and so is yours Fighting for the chance to get loved back Desperation has finally met it's match Hearts at war My heart is cut in four A piece for me, for you, for her,  And maybe my new misses And I say I do it all for practice  Practice makes perfect,  So why aren't you? I pity the fool who ever falls in love with you Shameless and blameless You rip hearts apart Tearing worlds upside down  From end to start If practice makes perfect  Then why aren't you? She said you can practice and practice and practice And sadly I'll still be in love with you!

Each new thought is connected to the last one. Each expired moment is connected to the next one. A chain of time and emotion not to be broken, not to be disturbed. Because pain is inevitable, happiness is a blessing, and ignorance isn't bliss. And it's in the rare kinks in the link of time and inflection where creativity is born.

Navigating through my thoughts is always an interesting endeavor. I weed through the bad and sad thoughts experiencing each emotion. It makes me feel human. The heavy heart. Trying to breath deeply to relieve the weight. The teary eyes. Trying to blink my fears away. The waves of body heat that consume me as if my blood carried an electrical current at the surge of every emotional thought brought on my heart, my life source, the Mecca of my being, the drumbeat that fills my head when I start to think too much. But in the end my thoughts bring me comfort. My reflections bring me insight. And this all turns into beautiful poetry. I am my poetry and I'm born again with each completed lyric, with each reconciled mistake. Through poetry I am redeemed!

Joseph Campbell