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Search for the Real
Okay, this is a weird one. I don't really understand what prompted me to write this poem. However, sometimes I find my self wondering at the realism of my faith, a belief in an often unseen entity. However, it is in those times when I doubt it most that I feel myself 'falling.' I may just be an irrational animal, but at least I have something to hold me up.
Search for the Real
A heart held captive over the edge,
I grasp at unseen arms which hold me over,
I tear at the expanse beside me,
For fear of falling below.
Yet even as in indescision I flail,
Unseen hands still grasp me.
Why can I not feel them?
Why can't I see what is real?
These arms before me are unseen, yet felt.
Which is reality? The edge or the arms?
I seem for the answers unaided.
I grasp, I search, I reach, but nothing.
It must be nothing, for it is not there.
And so I fall. The edge was real.
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(c) Copyright 1997 Joshua Smith. All Rights Reserved.
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