Thursday, March 8, 2007

one poem. one thought.

the texture of the wall
the ticking of my life

the wall and me
the wall and me

nails scratched and screamed at
yet nobody hears
not even me

fake smiling still
disappointed they can't see

the wall and me
the wall and me

the shadow between
and a fearful truth ahead
a fearless truth ahead

the wall and


I have mentioned these thoughts about reality to others before,
but nobody has really understood what I was saying.
I'm not sure if it is because they don't experience what I experience,
or whether it's due to my lack of eloquence.

Well what is reality to me?
Most of the time reality doesn't seem real to me.
That this is actually a deep dream.
That I won't die. That I can't.
Even if I cut my finger now by myself, the blood is not real, or something.

Why do I feel this? Or rather think or perceive this?
Because I have seen and felt a truer reality in my life.
Those moments where you are truly 'alive'.
Are they countable on my fingers? Maybe, but all I know is that
there is something spiritual that is real.

I've had dreams that seemed more real than me typing on this laptop right now.
I've had hot tears stream down my face, with me screaming out to God in anger, and a real spiritual 'smoothie' (i'd like to say) pouring over my tired soul.
I've had passionated intense real life moments.
I want it. I want it constantly. And maybe that's what heaven is like. Me being completely real.
I wonder what that would be like.