I am surrounded … am I?
The wrapping of reality,
A cloth of text shushing songs of eternity
Keeps reminding me I am.
This wind of story brushes my skin
And paints me in its color,
A forest of interwoven hues.
Around me, around, is meaning,
Utopian interpretations of the world,
But none of this makes sense to me.
Am I part of the text? Or am I apart of it?
None of this makes sense to me.
I guess that's settled, then.