bind BLIND shined lined grind, by Lori Subscribe to rss feed for Lori
Posted: 2014-09-23 15:51:39 UTC
Colours are nothing.
For what are they but an illusion,
Secluded deep within your mind.
I see my own colours.
The colours of perplexity, of imagination,
Adulation, combined.
My sights are hidden.
No one enters my prism of conception,
For within a single flame, confined.
For days I search in vain.
But among this wold there are few,
And I find none of my kind.
The world is broken.
For nothing is as one, but split innumerably,
Splintered, fractured, shattered, misaligned.
See this, they say.
I grasp, I move, I sense the atmosphere.
And it is a simple chair I find.



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