As I fall to my systems,
A stairway of concoctions comes to life.
Each of thee a reassurance,
Why so?
For I assume it's closer than it ever was.
A rhythm plays along,
One that ensures, that you "see",
Yet lack vision.
Thee gates flung open,
For instigated memories infiltrate.
Each spiralling deep into the abyss,
Yet never completely gone.
A mental black hole; the mind for once.
Reduced to remnants, yet a balance,
Alas, momentum is maintained,
An "accretion disc" of remnant thoughts,
Ones I have fed,
That consume me whole.
Off! That impulse,
A response to pulsar stimulus.
A search for a blank sheet is on,
Alas which came first?
The page of day?
Or the remnants patrolling the dark?
YOU ARE READING
Exploring Known Unknowns
PoetryParadox. A word that is underrated to an extent that we often tend to overlook.That is the web in which man's opinions and attributes thrive. As simple as we sound to be, the context behind it is just as complex. Perhaps, our beliefs change with tim...
