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Rated: 18+ · Poetry · Experience · #1235022
We are all doing the same thing in different ways.
Wading through a sea of thought,
Phantoms taunting everywhere.
Peace in mind is to be sought,
But the mind just does not care.

Elaborate schemes,
Delusions of grandeur,
Unconscious dreams,
Selfish in nature,

Sitting quiet trying not to think,
Just trying to let it all go.
Almost teetering on the brink,
Hopefully it will begin to flow.

A moderate status,
The fortress cracking,
Nothing is wasted,
Nothing is lacking,

Unknown emptiness envelops the calm,
Tingling all over nothing is felt.
Without a notice it hits like a bomb,
The self that was known begins to melt.

Sensations all directions,
Blood flowing no where,
A body collection,
With everything to spare,

A flesh wrapped skeleton of bones,
Collection of things blood and puss.
Slight variations like different tones,
But all from the same consciousness.

Coming back,
Sensations return,
Motor functions exact,
Familiarity does burn,

Finding the doorway back,
It's light burns my eyes.
Seeing we're the same all intact,
Acting separate is why the world cries...
© Copyright 2007 Benjamin (benzplace at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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