Lost truths

Its presence feels almost treacherous – overarching the turbulence within me, but inert. I assume it is afraid of my immeasurable depth. Who wants to get lost and lie at the bottom of the ocean, waiting to be excavated by a diver or submarine?

I fear its density and compactness, its capacity to hold secrets for decades. It is a mute witness to the battles below and above. 

dark nights engulf hearts
deconstructing illusions
written by sunlight

Some day, it will talk about the fiction written in the sky. Clouds touch the sun, moon and stars. At least they appear to be brushing against immortality, and yet celebrating their own transience. The different colors, expressions and postures against mountain peaks and far-off horizons are an illusion.

Why, oh why do the poets unleash so many lies? Why do they make us believe there’s a different world out there reflecting our pensive moods or exuberance?

stories
vindicate life
make us feel relevant
in an uncertain world, faking
lost truths

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What Do You See

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