Metaphors;
Confronting me with open doors,
Exposed for my pleasure,
Exploited by my experience,
And in cahoots with time,
As both make gains,
Evermore.
Like white sand slowly slipping,
‘Tween my fingertips,
Silky in gestation,
Transcendent in gesture,
And finite in guise,
Led to follow moments dissolved,
(Which are still accrued)
So that they may be,
Swept up in the stream,
Carried down and away,
Like time as it escapes,
through my pores,
All of which breathe freshly now,
And Eternity speaks to me,
Through my skin;
Evermore.
“You should view the world as a conspiracy run by a very closely-knit group of nearly omnipotent people, and you should think of those people as yourself and your friends.” - Robert Anton Wilson
1 comment:
this poem is beautiful, really clear visuals and pleasant timing, i really enjoyed it, thanks for posting!
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