What is normal?
In a universe of mystery
where reality is uncertain,
what is mundane?
In dark empty space that glides on forever
like paper-thin ice
that keeps reason from reason,
what is drab?
With spiraling glossy strings of time
that fall into knots of destiny
through tired, childish hands
that play with worn and precious marionettes,
what is dull?
When lack of darkness settles in
and paints a bright, imperfect sky,
when bamboo flutes bring shadow-play
of laughter down the mountainside,
when salty oceans rise and fall
with artless waves, breathless peace,
what then is bleak?
When the mirror finds your searching gaze
and brings your fading thirst for life,
you learn to love the stinging rain,
with newfound awe, crave cloudless skies,
sometimes you wonder
if your memory and name are really yours
and maybe, wonder half-amused,
if all that’s true is but a dream,
What is despair?
T. E. Pyrus