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Friday, February 18, 2005


   What Exists Only Before Dreaming
Jus' a little poem I wrote to keep myself occupied:



Midnight in imagination
Yet in what is real
Sometime around 3am
An unanswered truth
Tossed and turned
(being unable to sleep)
Buried beneath an insomniac's
(me)
waking dreams

On a star cross'd contemplation
(you know, when all comprehension fails)
I found that I understand much more than nothing
But much less than anything at all

Whereas taken upon myself and left behind
Was the tragedy I'm sure
(the tragedy that feeds me)
Also, to my undying lust for questions
I discovered that I have an infinite mind
Where a clash of love and the linear
Seem to possess no power
(either pure or unclean)
Over that which seems to be me

There
In that empty void between creation
And the last quiet moment before true silence
(sleep, that is)
I lay and paused my drifting angst
Only to think
(and to hold the burning within myself)

In faked revelation
Nothing sacred does exist

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