Wonders?

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NOTE: Wonders is a series of poems with no real connection or story line to them. They contain absolutely no meaning but that which the reader gives it. It is all about ourselves, that part in ourselves we don't know about and all the wonderful things that lie there.
 
I.
 
If you stare into a fan long enough, it will disappear, then come back as a rainbow, twirl around your mind for a while, and leave again. Movement is funny in its own way, it wishes not to be seen, but to entertain. Time seeks not to bore, but to endure. We just can't see it. Colors seek to attract and smells seek to please. Feelings seek to be accepted, not suppressed. We just choose not to see it. Living in oblivion seems the brightest path, we are so easily fooled, walking straight into the dark tunnel never to come back out again. Our mind is full of wonders, they hide just below the surface, our hearts full of unknown colors we are yet to discover. We are made up of sounds and smells, they are wonderful, and so are we. Our eyes, do they deceive us? Our brains, are they really there? Our spirits and our hearts, they are merely imaginary, but somehow real. Such great machinery requires care, one we cannot provide. Now why don't you just tell us why were here?
 
II.
 
Are we lifeless, or are we merely surreal? Were here aren't we? We live in this beautiful dream, a nightmare to most of us. It requires just a little pinch of insanity to be right. The sane are never fully happy and the crazy are incapable of real joy. A proper measure is needed. Happiness enables us to hear colors speak of untraveled journeys , to hear smells sing the most beautiful of melodies, and to feel sound caress our skin all the while. So we can taste that sweet metallic nectar bursting from out hearts and dance around prairies of flaming thoughts. Everything will be bright, even darkness, everything will be just right, the way it was meant to be.
 
III.
 
But there is a crack in hopes soul, an empty space in her heart.. She speaks our language, yet we cant understand what she speaks of. She is very naive, for one so ancient. She will never give up, never stop believing till the very last of her days. Although it may seem unreasonable to believe in a being so pure, so far away from evils grasp, she remains somewhat of a myth, a fairy, and angel we can only wish for. But the truth is, much like angels and fairies, she is only real once we make her so. Once we pull her out of out imagination and into reality. We are our own creators, we create things with flaws, like hope, like humanity. We are all so flawed, and that is exactly what makes us so undeniably perfect.
 
 

 
IV.
 
How can a fan crate the same illusion as a blank space? Much like a fan, an empty blank space will create the illusion of color, of movement when no real color lies there. Is it all just a trick? Just another illusion? Or perhaps one long, long dream? And when we wake, what will be of us? Where do our beds and our unconscious bodies really lie? Do they lie at all? And most of all, could we make this dream a lucid one? That is all up to us, do I wish to fly, or do I wish to crawl?
 
V.
 
“When I shed my skin, I will become a butterfly.” She said to me. “I will fly over the wonders of the world.” I said to her, “Will you take me with you? Will you teach me to fly?” She said I couldn't fly, for I was no caterpillar, I was a just small ant. “Ants cant fly.” She said with a tone rich in arrogance and a smug face. I never saw her again, but somehow I learned to fly. I fly whenever I let myself go. I've seen wonders she never will, for I can fly to worlds she does not know exist. They're closer than you might think, just underneath our skin, filled with creatures just like us, so infinitely wonderful.
 
VI.
 
These worlds, we've seen them in movies, all these “parallel universes,” but they're really more than just sci-fi. They're not quite what we think they are. They're inside and outside ourselves, all around us and fluttering about in our insides. No special powers required, no drugs, and no insanity. All that is needed for this journey is oneself, because once it is lost, sense-of self never comes back, and we lay trapped forever in whatever world we find ourselves in.
 
VII.
 
Now don't get me wrong! All these worlds are equally wonderful, but why should we stick to just one reality? Go on, close your eyes and see, shut your mouth and speak, new realities lay just below the surface. =)





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HisPurePrincess This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Apr. 21, 2011 at 4:41 pm
This is very interesting!  I love the abstractness of them.  I do like to write things in an abastract way.  This made me think of a story where there's these priests, and they tell the people the truth, but nobody can understand them.  So they believe whatever they think the priests might have said, and everything is chaos, and eventually, someone thinks to look under rocks and behind shadows for something new and they find out how to interpret what the priests are actually ... (more »)
 
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