If only you could lift me upon eagle's wings...
The murmur of passing momentaries
Fills the echoing chambers of my audioscape.
I could, just might, grasping, able to make out words,
But in the end I just tune right out.
It is not real, but yet it is.
It is as real as the fingers on my hand.
But what cannot be seen seems more real.
Whispers of unreality, thin willowing veils,
Wraps willfully around me.
Is anything real anymore?
What is it that I see? I see
A blank wall with no beginning
Sheer white nothingness
Stands, obstructing, retarding.
God help me, ye breaker of strongholds.
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3 comments:
Your poems are getting more and more abstract these days :p
=)
i m plain bored.
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