About Holes

Post 264:

            There’s a hole inside the shape before me,

            Too estranged from sense to see

            What spirit rampart or corporeal veil,

            Mindful illusion or mindless tale

            It lasts a sentence weary

            But wearied long retreat I call,

            Imbued to recompose the fall

            Without there’s nothing more to find,

            But inside where there’s soul and mind

            I’ll never condescend to all

          Poetry. I know. Cheers and see you after.