We are molded as if clay
Amongst the ruins of imagined wastelands
Side by side our eyes are closed
We are the chosen prey
Frontal lobes may meet unawares
Flocking to a central rendevous
Under muddy colored clouds
In shimmering shrouds
Enthralled in some form of cubism
Nothing is done that could construe
All are still chained to this dimension
In the constant flurry of changing atoms
It is at the nucleus of the problem
Random thoughts that float in suspension
Upon the stagnant air stream
However close we are able to be
Denial is in vain to the microscopic grain
Fleeting thoughts and images
Are strategically placed upon canvas
In an attempt to capture our inner wills
Rapidly built monuments pacify us
Like elusive electrons that invade the brain
~Moses~
© 2006 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved
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