Not once have you come to me to take me by the hand, inquired about my point of view or said you understand
Moving forward I ascertain it may come down to time and place, since destiny has it’s way my thoughts aren’t meant for present day
Time passes, years ascend, old losses turn to lessons, knowledge has a tendency to pave paths to more perplexing questions
Second guessing everything, mining truth from clever lies, all at once there’s clarity, and then I realize
I’m misplaced in history
a poet in a prophetic stooper
or it may just be that my words are better suited for the future.