The world is,
a whole lot of nothing:
subjectivity and construct
opinion and lies, words and feelings,
blind beliefs and iron doctrine,
the transient visible
the decaying tangible
the primitive visceral
- in the end of nothing.
We come and leave
empty like vessels.
On the other hand,
the transcendence is
uncontainable and ineffable
whirling beyond our capability
whirling in the dimensions
whirling in new consciousness
- not Poetry, not Art, not Thought,
the Nothing of this earth
cannot express the Something.
-- But still we try.
YOU ARE READING
Your Hands, Infinity: A Collection of Poetry
PoetryA collection of poetry for the Soul, for the Spirit, of the Cosmos, and of the Universal, of the Divine and our Consciousness, of a Friend and a Lover, to open a window in the heart and set ourselves free. Having been inspired by many visionary poet...
