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Edgar Whitman Wilde
Poems
Nov 2012
thoughts
what is it that i am looking for
what is that convulses my mind so
i don’t know, I just don’t know
yet I keep on searching for something
something i know not what
it is in the words, i know it is in the words
it demands a recognition,
perhaps it is an illusion of complex
temporal simultaneity that plays
upon my reason but what is it
that delivers a thousand shivers
and colors from everywhere and nowhere
is it the blank spot that enters my consciousness
bringing temporarily bright blackness
the blindness one receives if
engaged in an over prolonged look at the sun
is it the inner workings of my mind
trying to free some irritant that
has intended to punctuate my thinking
without permission
an attempt to perplex
this new apostasy
that incubates within
yet a confusion hangs suspended
Of this blank spot, this nothingness,
this void of inarticulate reality that
exaggerates its intentions to consummate
a separation but never succeeds in its completion
Written by
Edgar Whitman Wilde
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