Monday, 27 June 2016

The Act of Staring.

Lying down on the floor staring at the ceiling
somehow brings a lot more peace a lot more healing;
The paint is white all the way up all the way down
how simple strokes of a thick brown brush 
can put one in amaze and allow to let down?!
For a moment, it feels as if I am floating away
far away in dreams to never meet realities
with all those clicks and all those rides
the act of staring has so caught me off the limelight;
Letting the battle take place at its usual pace 
but I know it's a win even if I don't pick my ace
but here is 'nother strike for the frowning you,
Win or lose, is 'bout the perspective that gets you fairly screwed;
Runaway Train, however, sometimes,
gives the beautiful idea of a soul in drowns
how the sadness hovers to- and every night
as you glance over the ceiling nicely painted white;
Back to the act of staring, eh! the act of floating,
tells you a thing about being a humanlike or something
doesn't matter how much or how far you float away
the chain of reality will always pull you back from the stray.

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