Fact or Fiction
A crazy thought, an intense shot
Locked inside the confines of my mind,
Self made, not out of the boundaries of what we so
Frequently call consciousness,
It’s simply Imagination not actualization, a painted image
Real but at the same time not of this world.
To my unconscious mind it’s as real as it gets,
So why do I have trouble believing this exists.
I would paint you a picture, but its grandeur
Would soon be blander, for the elation
Lies within the mystery, not
Looking back like it’s some kind of history.
For now the oil is cleansed,
The looking glass is transparent again.
The Promised Land lies directly ahead,
And the only thing keeping
Me, for it, is myself.
These stones that I so frequently tripped on
are acting as the pushing force,
in moving me from now until forever,
From point A to point B.
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