Realities half twist, a one sided trip
On the cusp, concealed footprints of purpose erase
a fading memory on a mobius strip
a departed dimension in time and space
Circles in a whirlpool of similarity
no clockwise or counter clockwise
Mirrored, cloned waves on a boundless sea
horizon to horizon, watery desert, dunes arise
No signs, no roads, no marker
always returning to where one began
Unable to see that it couldn't get darker
marooned on an endless journey, no plan
Not knowing from where one came;
should one resist or go with the flow?
Truth a ghostly, unfathomable game
Even who one is, one doesn't know
A single dimension, the rest an illusion
no smell, balance, touch, taste, deaf and blind
Thoughts nothing more than a reoccurring delusion
intuition evaporated into the turmoil of one's mind
-
Author:
sorenbarrett (
Offline) - Published: July 19th, 2023 17:39
- Comment from author about the poem: A mobius strip is a surface that can be formed by attaching the ends of a strip of paper together with a half-twist. It then becomes a single-sided surface with no boundaries, The Möbius strip is a non-orientable surface, meaning that within it one cannot consistently distinguish clockwise from counter clockwise turns.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 6
- User favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek.
Offline)
Comments4
Clever words Soren, many things in life are becoming undistinguishable.
Andy
Thanks Andy I appreciate your comments
Good write SB.
Is that the same thing as those strips, where one twists it, then cuts it in half down the centre, and tapes it together to become twice as long but half the breadth? If you follow my ramblings. lol.
Yes, I studied a little of old Mobius.
These strips if you cut in half you won't have to tape. Oh yes, I read Mobius Dick too. Thanks for the review Orchi.
'should one resist or go with the flow?
Truth a ghostly, unfathomable game'
'A single dimension, the rest an illusion'
'intuition evaporated into the turmoil of one's mind'
(this searching poem, attesting
to that innate, fallible dichotomy
in selfhood's, mirages
we, who curate what to identify
as truth
believing our eyes, asserting dominance
on existence
while witnessing a millennium old spec of light
as the stars we're afforded in life)
Brilliant!
L.B your comments stimulate more thought than the poem or writing it. Thank you so much for your poignant thoughts friend.
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