The Words spill out.

The Words spill out.

One minute they’re in my head

                Then the words spill out

                                And they’re in yours.

A torrent of pointless epithets

                Spewing forth

                                Without pause.

In a house full of bookcases,

                A cathedral of ideas,

The truth is still elusive

                As we trundle

                                Down the years.

Chasing imagination

                Between the trees

                                Of illusion.

Trapped in the tides

                Of a sea

                                Of delusion.

The words still spill out

                Of nowhere.

Into the void

                That is somewhere.

Opher 19.11.2022

I don’t know where all these words and ideas keep coming from. They just appear in my head and I write them down.

The whole process is wondrously pointless and achieves nothing.

I know that.

It doesn’t stop me though.

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