Enigma
What is this world, if not an illusion?
Some grand orchestra of elements in fusion?
A kaleidoscope of colours crystalline clear?
A distant echo of faraway near?
Or the winds of fortune sweeping through time,
An enigmatic power without reason or rhyme?
What impalpable air hangs heavily here,
In light of the sun, an illumined sphere?
What mesmeric magic hides closed in the seed,
That it morphs from the sapling to the tree with such speed?
What lies beyond the precipice?
A wider dawn, or infinite abyss?
And what are we in this, I ask!?
But truth smiles, ironic, behind the mask.
Are we but flames of some famished fire;
A hunger compelled to something higher?
A folly created of Divine emanation:
A plague to his play since the dawn of creation?
Questions! Questions, do crowd the mind!
And at last we realize that we are truly blind.
2007-05-31
06:13:55
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10 answers
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asked by
Anonymous
in
Poetry