The Imaginary Questions: Poetry

If clouds were dreams,
could we fly past the
misty vapors and delve
into what's new?

Could we stand still
of our own volition
and not have our
minds made up for us?

Could we inhale all that
all that is sweet and real,
knowing that these clouds,
this transparent mist
is the closet metaphor
to truth that we'll ever know?
 We are all people
standing in different rooms,
all encompassed by our own truth
yet united by a common word:
And so we shall get back
what we were missing,
What we seek will open
both hearts and minds
Don't you see?
Our laughter creates
a circle,
a place in the world
where we are valid
So let us ease past
the wind that blows
things against our windows,
let us capture reality
that flies with time
past our souls
Awake and aware
in rhapsody,
the silence
every torture,
& pain... 

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