Sleep walks a narrow path,
Between the meta and the physical,
Over vaporous threads of dreams,
Contradictions of that empirical.
While cynics lay in disbelief,
Midnight nomads wrestle in their beds,
Conflicted with the metaverse,
Living a dream world in their heads,
We clasp at pain, joy, and love,
All creatures breath the same atmosphere,
Each will pass so quickly discarded,
As if our lives were never lived here.
Can life be such a puzzle,
The answer to its mysteries will remain,
With this cosmic moment in spatial time,
The kaleidoscope of an amusing game.
The strife we see on this globe of dirt,
Stirred by the spiritual winds that blow,
Seeds of bitter weeds, thorns and thistles,
Planted the lies of religious dogma grow.
The answer cannot be that of man,
Nor prophetic books, robes or aged guru,
Dreams answer your quest each darkened night,
Life’s guide lives with in the heart of you.
Listen to the words you vision,
Walk the steps your mind places there,
Before you is that golden path,
Through murky depths or clear blue air.
Yet, Pinocchio dances a wooden jig,
An unseen hand pulls the tethered strings,
When Geppetto gazes into eternity,
His movement the reality of life brings.
Thus I gaze out my darkened panes,
At a nights blazing twinkling star,
Postulating if my life is truly real,
Or just some others visioned avatar.
Copyright: 2008, Donald Harbour