what is substance?
is it the infinite black night sky,
or the stars dancing within?
is it the ocean and her mysterious ways,
or those and that which lurk her depths?
I write these words, and i wonder,
are these substance, or
just the smoke of a dirty fire?
whatever the answer or continual riddle
i find myself in need of substance
and clueless as to it's definition
the ejaculation seems substance
but then, what of that which came before?
do our tongues coming together create substance,
something we can bank on, or just
a moment's hope?
money doesn't exist you know,
except in our belief that it does
and love is ever adding and subtracting
according to the latest nuance
faith falls flat when facts intervene
becoming stardust blown from our open hand
while our mind decides what is real and
dictates the memo to our bewildered
i don't want the sky nor the sea below
nor those that lie within
and i don't want the empire state building
nor the cute house on cherry lane
i want a substance i can trust
something small, secret,
but yet somehow shared
i want substance
but i don't know what it is
yet i think it lies waiting,
just wanting to be found
somewhere between you and i