teapots

Never-Ending Story

I really do want to believe it's all here,

That it's real, and that it is as great as everyone thinks it is,
Strong and indestructable,

Powerful with meaning and substance,

So that I too, exist here, but why?
These objects made of wood, steel and concrete, glass and fibers,
Clawing an scratching at my spirit day and night,
Begging for my touch to make them real,
And walls, walls, walls, that separate,
Real as this figment of my own imagination
Who I call myself, the existential being I believe I am,
The objects speak in tongues,
And languages unheard of
But understood with senses forbidden
And cast away from what man has deemed to be 'real',
And objects, material objects, jumping out at me,
Talking teapots, spoons and candlesticks,
From stories out of the depths of another's inner world,
Jumping into my world! How dare they come without knocking!
What is it they want? What are they asking?
"We are here just like you", they said,
"Why do you want to be here?"
So I replied, "Why do I want? Maybe I should just be!"
And so from then on I began to just be.

In case I should ever again need a shrink,
I shall first consult the kitchen sink.

 

4:21 AM 4/18/2013 ©

Author's Notes/Comments: 

The illusion called life.

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