poetry, Writing

What?

And in the matter there was a shape
Like a doppelganger without a host
The form became

And unto itself it was
Without purpose
Defying reason
Shamed
Yet completely of itself

And into the world it came
Beyond mortal conception
Defying all explanation
Emotion choking
It’s every move
In itself
Devoid of any earthly likeness
And knowing this, it lets go

Yet it cannot know
Truth is in reconciliation
Believing in nothing
But being all
Nothing equals
Nothing stays

And where does it all go?
Like a vine choking a tree
Reason stands
But there’s only nothing
Nothing to understand

A misshapen form
What is reality?
Does anyone realize?
Are we ever really conscious?
Do we ever truly feel?

The area is cordoned off
Blocked by my state of mind
But unto itself
It shall reveal
The purpose of my time

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