Where do lost thoughts go?
Today I woke up mid air.
Curious silence around me,
Faint melodies, playing somewhere
Not too close, not too far.
There's no distance in this realm,
Mere perception of it.
Around me are wisps of sky;
Almost like the skies opened up to colors,
Bored of the same old blue.
Come to think of it,
This isn't air.
It's the absence of relevance.
There's many a people scattered by.
Bubbles surround us all.
But like little pockets of movement around us,
Slight boundaries within the nothing,
Illusion of a difference in form.
Feelings take on physical form,
I'm surrounded by malice, pain, love, hurt.
With form like breaking skies,
Forming silhouettes through colors that evolve physiques.
Scenarios like moving pockets of color,
Freeze within their contours,
An ephemeral vision for the senses.
Dynamic shifts abound,
Some forms wane and some conjoin;
People recognize one another,
But, enclosed by their abstraction,
Speak through their eyes.
Umbilical chord, pliant, far reaching,
Fragile, like a stem,
Connects us to someone long lost,
At the behest of this thinker, we exist.
Chord expands into petals of bubbles,
Giant flower of the perpetually metamorphosing mind.
Some are without chords,
Bubbles burst as their essence passed on.
Grow fainter and sometimes fuse with us.
Derived thought, poignance, Deja vu.
But I don't stay put in this realm for long,
Disappear and reappear;
A magic show beyond memory.
Each time I awaken here,
Both feelings and my form are a little different.
Today love's missing, missing is lost;
All that remains in my bubble is malice and laughter.
And the moving visions of the source around me.
I'm a faint wisp too,
Only some of me here.
Beyond floats another flower,
One of it's bubble-petals is me;
Younger, surrounded by the red of happiness.
Some other petals are me too.
Feelings, colors, evolve with experience.
We acknowledge one another,
but we're not the same.
I'm both your perception of me and mine of myself.
Find acceptance here.
This world is both now and never,
Yesterday and tomorrow,
Near and far;
But it doesn't hold any form.
For what's lost is free,
What's free has no form,
And what's let go, from the now,
Is lost until recalled.
Ah! I've drifted near the tunes,
That are both familiar and comforting.
Time to listen to the lullaby of these