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An Empty Box

My clouded mind blocks out the world
Right and real are blocked and blurred
The fantasy of life is gone
To destiny, so far beyond
A common object, solid, true
My fingers may well slip right through
The universe is made of dust
Of clouds, of fog, of shallowing rust

Minds are trapped inside of boxes
Closed and sealed, without a lock
The key exists in nowhere real
But perhaps that is what we feel?
We see the world, but cannot prove
That anything is real and true

I stare through your eyes; what do they see?
It’s nothing but a fantasy
I cannot see your mind, your thoughts
Life is truly all for naught
I am all I know is real
Into itself it rapidly keels

I stare through you, you stare through me
Each is what the other sees
The loneliest creatures are those that see
That life is but a fantasy
Is nothing real and nothing true?
Or is it what I make to do?

When life turns into empty spurn
There is one to whom we turn
To whom we trust and love, and see
We are so much more than fantasy
He tells us we are more than dots
Made from love, and meaningful thoughts
When life is empty and meaning is flawed
Our only hopes lie within God



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