Ye Gods


I woke up or
So it seemed
When after all
On reflection
Perhaps it was
I merely dreamt
I were floating
Free in midair
Gravity a sleight
Of conformity
Hermes reborn
A zillion unborn
Messages poised
Atop my spring-
board lips their
Breath held
Amidst this
Backdrop I am
Drowning in
Till of a sudden
All becomes dark
And becomes clear
I know of a certainty
Nothing but fantasy
A passing illusion
Some simpleton
Messing about
With Photoshop

About Ben Naga

The Spirit that graces me with its passing has no name and stems not from thoughts and words, though it gathers them up as it flows, but from feeling.

Posted on September 14, 2013, in Poetry, Writing and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 8 Comments.

  1. clever poem indeed, Ben.
    groetjes, Francina

    Liked by 1 person

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