What is real? This is so confusing.
In the end, it seems that it comes down
to a personal verdict
doomed to conviction,
to a judgement call,
to an interpretation:
we measure these things by our minds,
rape the truth by looking through eyes of necessity
that super-impose structures from our mind
on the sights these eyes seem to be capturing,
we rape beyond the mind through the gating;
through the swinging door, like
double-backed mirrors reinforcing all we
fear, hate, adore:
Here we are, changing angles, altering eyesight,
mixing sensations, re-aligning re-interpretations,
ideas young and bold, convictions strong and dying,
old questions gaining further elaboration,
sprouting partners, confusion first reduced,
then like rabbits, multiplying:
Feelings are still phantoms; thoughts, still a cancer,
question marks still haunting, seems to be no solid answers
even as to why I feel so compelled to solve the riddle
that wraps around me, suffocates me,
calls out to me as it drags me down to face it:
will I make it? Will you win, or
do we both disappear?
As I tread on through this, approaching the cliff,
lost in the roar of wind and the drum of thunder,
I feel all that was and could have been, all that is,
I feel myself dying old, the days are numbered.
As I tread on through this, approaching the cliff,
I can't help but pause a moment and begin to wonder,
after all this time, is there anything beyond this?
And what do we do
if there is?
In the end, it seems that it comes down
to a personal verdict
doomed to conviction,
to a judgement call,
to an interpretation:
we measure these things by our minds,
rape the truth by looking through eyes of necessity
that super-impose structures from our mind
on the sights these eyes seem to be capturing,
we rape beyond the mind through the gating;
through the swinging door, like
double-backed mirrors reinforcing all we
fear, hate, adore:
Here we are, changing angles, altering eyesight,
mixing sensations, re-aligning re-interpretations,
ideas young and bold, convictions strong and dying,
old questions gaining further elaboration,
sprouting partners, confusion first reduced,
then like rabbits, multiplying:
Feelings are still phantoms; thoughts, still a cancer,
question marks still haunting, seems to be no solid answers
even as to why I feel so compelled to solve the riddle
that wraps around me, suffocates me,
calls out to me as it drags me down to face it:
will I make it? Will you win, or
do we both disappear?
As I tread on through this, approaching the cliff,
lost in the roar of wind and the drum of thunder,
I feel all that was and could have been, all that is,
I feel myself dying old, the days are numbered.
As I tread on through this, approaching the cliff,
I can't help but pause a moment and begin to wonder,
after all this time, is there anything beyond this?
And what do we do
if there is?
