At what point is a real thing real?
When touched or seen,
or is it real when first perceived
within the mind's-eye playhouse?
Are giant whales
true solid beasts,
though I have never touched one?
Are your lips real,
though I have never kissed them?
Do you exist
when all that remains of you
within my walls
are memories
and wafting scents
of lavender and rose?
I see you clearly
here behind my eyes,
I hear your voice
within the boundless silence
of my mind
and feel your
insubstantial touch
caress a yearning soul.
You are real to me,
and knowing you exist
is all I need
and all that matters.
YOU ARE READING
Conscience and Consciousness
PoetryA collection of poetry highlighting the moral choices we face. Who are we? What makes who we are? Are we good and how can we be better? Are we driven by Fate or are we masters of our own destiny?
