One comment on “poem for Fisher; Pennsylvania

  1. UNCONCEIVED (poem)
    It is constant…this decay, this entropy.
    I sit in quiet solitude, awaiting some
    enigmatic moment when I am suddenly,
    violently thrust back into action.
    Perhaps I delude myself, it may be
    that what I perceive as languor, is
    actualization of some dormant force within.
    I break into a run, my heart racing
    uncertainly, monkey brain beside itself with
    fear…stopping suddenly, taking into
    view what I have run from — darkness.
    The horrifying realization that my run has
    accomplished nil…the darkness persists.
    Am I deranged? Is there something wonderful
    and eternal here that is beyond my reckoning?
    Am I between realms; and in that ethereal
    plane am I unable to come to fruition?
    Am I really but a dream of myself?
    Worlds turn in upon themselves that I might see…
    and I observe that it is all of my quiet imagining.
    We are none of us actually here.
    We are, I observe, the product of dreams —
    the astral imagining of some deity, some force
    hitherto unconceived.

    -D.C. Massey

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