The hazy skies of white and grey
wrap me with their delicate hands.
The misty streets of Geneva
clothe me in their silent dance.
When I walk on the paths of imagination,
I find comfort in the belief
that some truths go
beyond the mere sensation
of being blinded by apprehension.
But when words fall prey
to the chaos of syntax
then only do I measure
the senselessness of all life.
Where can I find, then,
the meaning of it all?
Where can I touch, then,
the feelings of the known?
Not in language, for it has lost its way!
Nor in religions, for they've been hollowed out!
In the chaos of syntax!