MIllions of questions...
No answers
Thinking... becomes podering... becomes hurting...
Becomes nothing.
Noone to turn to
Nowhere to go
Trapped in an open field of infinity
Walking for hours...days...years
No destination for consideration
Running out of ground
Floating now
Inside and empty vastness
Much like that of my being
Swiming without gravity
Stepping on stars
Riding comets...
In the midst of this fascination
I remain amused
None of these things
Or any"thing"
Existing or or not
Real or false
Have a tiny thought of a piece of meaning.
From where, then, does this fascination come?
If thought isn't real,
Then what am I doing each time I think I am thinking?
 
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