Stars intersect with the horizon off in the distance,
Or maybe just out of reach.
The mind is a tricky place to find bearings.
Is the thought new, only a few feet off?
Or treading water so long, time no longer holds meaning?
Ideas spread out like grains of sand in a desert of knowledge
And raindrops falling into an ocean of awareness.
Coming adrift or washing ashore
To be found by the first wandering notion.
The inner voice always in flux, full of authority.
Directing principles to the rightful place
Before waxing on about the stardust that fills us all.
Then explaining the moment,
As if an audience awaits explanation.
Always the same boys, but ever-changing.
The prattling of the inner self. | CH
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