Posted in Poetry

Self Perception

trouble-box

The gray walls are neither solid or imaginary

but they stop progress just the same.

The size of the room changes without changing at all.

The silence is loud and the noise is quiet.

Existence is the only temporary thing.

All meaning isolated.

Dried lips crack with a smile because it’s an unexpected thing.

Eyes are dry.

Hands are open.

Complicated to allow understanding.

Or to argue reality into a needed box.

If only it fit in the box it came in.