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Out Of The Clouds

30 Aug

As you fly through the clouds,
everything appears the same;
pale, white, blank.

The plainness of the blankness
begins to dissolve into
threads and wisps.

You observe changes in hue,
fainter whites, light greys,
wispy threading.

Staring you discern contours,
cavities, missing color, nothing,
but not nothing.

Changes of threads and hue,
separating from you,
and returning in full.

You feel the presence of nothing;
randomly, occasionally,
increasingly often.

Startling disappearance of the white and wisps
and threads and greys
and contours and gaps.

And you are in openness
and space and nothing,

When you come out of the clouds, you see everything.

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Posted by on August 30, 2011 in Poetry, Writing

 

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