Like waves,
Dispersing but appearing.

Here is reality,
we walk,
and walk.

Below is fantasy,
we walk,
but never reach.

so much space,
yet its meaning lays convoluted :
not like us.

So much we see,
But what do we really see?

Where is the passion?
Who listens?

Tell me why?
You think you know : I point no more.

I see the sun again,
Let it be.

Is this it,
of evolution.

Bones I see,
like tools.

Where is the spirit?
The body is a tool that serves.

In spaces lost,

The truth is sometimes confused,

But truth points to life not death.

Much rot is made,
Over reflection, of being too late.

We are and are,

Like stars of passion,

Locked in the milk of pathos.

Does
experience of life matter, or experience of emotions : people seem to
go from one extreme or to the other, but answers can lie not in
experience, but also in the balance of experience.