It seems
I cannot beckon God;
I must remain bewildered

Starry eyed and dreaming
breathing in the mist
with a heavy brain and
all contained within me

Exasperated sighs, relief
such constant bemusement
coloring my senses
tantalizing me with curiosity

I am
caught up
in the searching
unearthing precious gems

Seeing the light through prisms
catching glimpses of the truer forms
whereby reality should turn itself over
lending itself to nought by
superimposed, extant, extradimensional
realities

The shifting, everchanging constant
the fractalline reversal
of the overlay we deem as our precision
yet own as our perception

There is no finding God
It will not come to me
For, without what is not
within was what had been
there is no removal
such, as there is no retrieval

Which way is up in empty space