...

Never shone,

My boots,

And never under a single sun,

Blanketing grime,

Sprinkling dirt,

Trade I do, in ton..

Where its heel and mine abut,

Reality begins,

My rise and my fall,

Can be just that distance,

And nothing more..

By and large,

In mine, I walk,

But when large,

Within mine, I walk,

Till I tire,

And exhaust my wit,

Till they shrink in mercy,

And fit..

Through the million miles,

Imprint I may not leave,

But carry I do,

Soil from each,

And yet with room,

For the next lap too..

Never shone,

My boots,

And never under a single sun,

And When they do,

Is when I shall rest,

Dustily shining,

In all my worth..

In the argument,
Of its existence,
I side with the for,
Illusions they are not,
Hallucinate, I do not,
But never ask me,
If I see the near, or the far..
Visual pathway of mine,
Is but quite intact,
Hence valid is my witness..
I see it true,
But describe I cannot,
cos Its got the dimensions of self..

Thoughts cram,
And accrue,
And d sight of definiteness lost?
Or just plain blank mind,
Leading to a vision
Of void too vast?

When do I see,
And why?
Where do I look,
Into what do I glide?
Aeons it lasts,
Or trice?
Asinine I become,
Or wise?

Is it worth
The above rumination,
Or is it just plain insipidness,
This moment,
Of looking into,
Nothingness.. ?