The present clarity is under the cloud of fiction

We call it the past, not an affliction

Imagination wears through constant use

Life gets mechanical through this abuse

Restoring clarity lets the eyes see

The open, not the shadow from the mind’s tree

Life is designed to be lived first hand

Not through memory’s distant command

By not listening to the mind’s daily readout

It dries, we also end another perennial drought

The lushness, of life, is restored

New clarity arrives, it ensures we aren’t bored

By comparing and contrasting, clarity disappears

Our thoughts then become sets of eyes and ears

What they see and hear will be under a cloud

Clarity lives beyond the mind which thunders aloud