Static in the Clear
A friend I barely ever had appeals to me in slumbered views.
He seems to follow up to see; or am I checking up on him?
The marks upon his face may show the habits of his late abuse.
Yet as a friend he makes amends with pure awareness of the truth.
He does not mutter out a sound as silently he pay his dues.
His eyes will never gaze away; his face is static in the clear.
Expressions that he dare present are records of the grandest clue.
His Mona Lisa smile ever-present, echoing the true.
The world around me seems quite fluid, oscillating vast with hues.
My vision never comes to question what my mind decide condemn.
And as with every fleeting passion passed in wrath when found too near.
Another day may fade away, but dreams will never fall to fear.
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