Focus

Maybe we’re dreaming or maybe it’s real,
But who differentiates “think” from “feel?”
A wandering thought unravels out of hand:
A seditious, bold concept defying its strand.
Perhaps it’s preposterous, an impossibility-
Without some entrenched psychic ability-
Suggesting maybe we’re dreaming as one:
A concept grasped by so few, if not none.
Then why are you here, or why am I there,
A sense, almost tangible, of you in the air?

 
Is this really possible? Can it really be true?
I am trying to focus- and starting with you-
On everything all at once: scared to forget
Nugatory memories, people I’ve never met.
With you it’s different, can’t let myself lose
The things I’ve noted: chances you choose.
Organising so much in my head
That order is entirely destroyed as symmetry seems to dissipate and dissolve
And life spirals out of control
As the fabric of my thoughts unwinds and regimentation is lost forever...

The End

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