This is probably why the stories, The warnings Are so great in number.
It was surreal to begin with,
and I can’t decide if now its More Surreal.
Or incredibly hyper REAL.
All I know is that I feel lost,
Scrambling to wrap my head around any possible misstep,
Even though as I retrace my steps,
I see nothing but dance.
Suddenly I am that being, In that one George Bernard Shaw play, Realizing the Real within the surreal,
Resisting succumbing to the inevitable pull of time and gravity,
All the while longing for the Peace that only acceptance of What Is can manifest.
The leaking The memories Real or imagined Toy with my weaknesses.
And confuse me to the point of absurdity
The pounding rabbit heartbeat of not knowing
It’s not you…
It’s the bells in my head that are bad.
But you rang them, and right now sound is Deafening