I begin this trance simply - Hypnotic. Symbolic for hyperbolic - hyperbole superb. Launch with superpowers - showers with thoughts. Think of you and me. She and he. Her and him, you and them, Can I ask who we are again? Dark night starts to spin. The Dark Knight arrives to win. Percussion drums through smooth valleys of the tongue. Metaphor melodies explain themselves gently. Tentatively ponder upon wondrous cosmic debates. See this is a flow state, low stakes, probate. A cold case to crack, so crack open a cold one. An artist drawing on the sky of your medulla. Who are you foolin’, expired schoolin’, makes this an easy movement. I could do the impossible, connect the unconnected. So pretend the omen is not checkmate. Defend the gate of overflow. Stroll through meadows and window shop lectures, Feel the textures of slow grown halos. Drip the cosmic from the depth. Reliever of stress tests the best the rest fire possesses. Caress the vest that lays on the chest of superman. Move more energy than the Hoover Dam. Slithery snakes hiss while laying in dirt. Cursing feet at work, bites hurt the worst when distracted. Tactical it is for the practical to witness the disastrous turn of events. Commonality with principality shapes essences of reality. So how can it be that the mind travels in circles of fatalities. Our responsibility to channel identity through visions of divinity. Hostility with proclivity questions the community, serendipity. Duality blurs morality, knifes edge of clarity. Gravity pulls mentality toward new actuality. New plates of soul food brought to you to remain cool. Calm and collected while remaining a detective on reality. Faulty gurus screw you into believing misinterpreted dream state beings. Truth a helium balloon kisses the ceiling. Is it happenstance that you’ve encountered a lyrical trance. And become a plant I water with every syllable. Avoiding billable hours from therapists that resist the pitch. Their words are edible yet here I adjust your physical. A miracle divisible by the literal, analytical minds peep the design. Twitches become minimal once the subliminals reach sunshine. This flow drips slow hidden rivers of the mind. I twist the rhyme, lift the sign, decline the wine Outline the confines, refine the incline, entwine and then assign. Meaning to every color reaching your soul. Am I the best, probably not, my art just hits the spot. A vibe that makes you forget the concept of clocks. It heals and shocks. It’s meals and glocks. It’s a voice you impatiently watch. Bravado aficionado, cool like gelato. Apollo my footstool, I paint like Picasso. Build like Leonardo, lay roads to El Dorado. Find gold in vibrato, then bury it in grottos No sorrow to Mi Amor, I soar with her and explore. Adore her on the floor, ignore the calls for encores. Tour on the shore, detour past wars. Allure the obscure, procure unusual metaphors. Metamorphosis on thesis born from hypocrites. Slowly as you reread it, the second time will make more sense.
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About
Maisen A. Hill writes with the pulse of a musician and the conviction of a seeker. His work moves beyond traditional poetry, channeling rhythm, revelation, and raw emotion into what he calls Trance Lyricism — a state where sound, thought, and spirit collide. Each line he crafts is a meditation in motion, alive with layered wordplay, spiritual undertones, and the tension between intellect and instinct. Hill’s language doesn’t just speak — it vibrates, reshaping perception through cadence and coded emotion. His poems invite readers to feel the rhythm of awakening, to lose themselves in the current of language until understanding becomes experience.
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