At the top of the tree is where nothing can
be a child of reason.
Since I’m a skeptic I’m scared of doors
and every choice I make seems like guessing
feels like transgressing
sure of just few.
I can’t hatch this from reason but I may call
this the top of the tree.
And although I’m a skeptic and consciously
am in a state of fleeting devotion
deceived by an ocean
I’m still sure of you.
This is staring into the face of uncertainty
yet I hold certainly.
Intuition boldly mastering
doubt. I constantly
am in a state of fleeting devotion
deceived by an ocean
I’m still sure of you.
