Falling
on the
silent sound
of
a whirling world.
We know not
what we do--
innocent in
name only,
an ever-changing
perception.
The incandescene
of life,
thrilling, human,
jars me
from
a starving reverie.
I search
for a definition
of the intangible
and wonder
why I come up
empty-handed.
What is
the true existence
of being
but as cracked images
playing the same
colors
through my mind;
receiving
no rest.
