The Void

My recollection of infinity.

I stumble upon the looming patterns of thought

Kept hidden in infamy from conscious lucidity

And enter the void of metaphysical abstracts

Rightly elusive, as not to be sought.

 

These eyes that I trust are held partly reprehensible

In the questions of conceptions that I know of the physical

Leading me further astray, deviants of imagination

Painting new surroundings in my mind, of which I'm indefensible.

 

My body dissolves, but pure consciousness remains

Erratically transcending my coherent physicality

Incongruous notions sparked and taken by fear

That I attempt to mitigate, but ultimately sustains.

 

My body is a vessel, a conduit of realization

An uninterruptible stream of perceptions

Individual sensations melt into each other, looping

Spiraling to the point perceptive creation.

 

Words vaguely portray what they intend to say

And language is an intricate distraction from the infinite

As clever and impelling as our fixation with time

Ignorant is our nature, and distracted we will stay.

 

Why do I return to this reality? Am I meant not to see?

What filters the ever-flowing sensations unresponsive normally?

As I ungracefully falter back to the land of the known (eyes open or closed?)

Unbridled relief takes a hold of me.

 

Further from the void... further from infinity.