Poking Holes in Reality

I’m walking along, I see the world
And glitter is swishing from my body
In the trees the talking leaves
Are reaching out to greet me

The ground is soft, bright with colors
Everyone’s lifting their hands
Up in the air the sun is quite high
Dripping with drops of the sky

I meet with a friend who’s logical
Telling me how people are mean
“But you are so kind,” I say from my mind
She’s balanced a clear ball in her hand

“I am your friend,” and she dissipates
Cars they are passing me by
Trails of green, or flitting red hues
Deep in my heart is the color of blue

Statues of deeply carved stone
Why do they talk, why do they whisper
One has the eyes, the other has wings
Working my life for to save

I’ve entered a room where everything floats
People can watch from glass walls
I have my one friend, she’s talking to me
I have this friend that I know they can see

“We’re on the same level,” I shout to the pack
Their faces are lost in a trance
Laser beams searing with bright, how
I’ve gotten my plan this time right now

Pieces have smiles, broken up sounds
Tiny and speaking of things
Ignoring my presence so to conjure
Meticulous in keeping me here

Sister proposes from above all the rocks
“What say we go for a flight?”
“I can’t fly,” I say it’s the truth
But to say that I can’t, this just isn’t right

Awake from a dream, I’m under the sea
Awake to the depths, no longer asleep
Refracted light waves, the creatures are free
This is a whale that’s talking to me

Onto a train with armies that follow
Into vast space that’s open and hollow
Stars are dancing, reciting their songs
What I’ve been missing all this all along

Where did you go, who am I with
What did I do, who could have done this
Why should I ask, or maybe I’ll leave
But then, I am going, where nothing’s amiss

This works very well are words in the air
My mechanically talking watch says
In this fine place, I am a true native
In here and for me, it’s easy to live

Advertisements
This entry was posted in poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Poking Holes in Reality

  1. noranoir says:

    sounds like a surreal dream for sure.

  2. LK says:

    Yes, but you know, I always feel kind of iffy when I hit the publish on these, and if anything, rushed poetry represents the little amount of time I have to truly concentrate on what I’d like to wright. I guess the blurb here is, if time doesn’t allow, I’ve always got surrealism to tap into; maybe there’s meaning in there somewhere.

    Thanks! : )

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s