There was this windfall,
Followed by all sorts of things
Just things.
Material good-for-nothings.
Those things that have no meaning
They aren't even real.
With surreal events,
It's hard to know what's real.
It's almost hard to feel
But just as hard to forget.
Sun, the rain, the wet earth
Are forever real.
The things you know,
The things you feel
Can be real.
But the people you meet
You can only hope
Will, to you, be real.
could real be the origin of surreal?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
this is beautiful.
and pure genius.
you see. now it's early.
and wet outside.
and i feel at ease.
and everything is calm.
and it has such a big impact on me.
now that i could concentrate.
i can't read one of your pieces of writing, something that i consider really important, just for the sake of reading it. i have to take it in. try to understand it. i know that what you write means something. one of the only people to do so. and yesterday, as much as you may claim that i was busy talking to mr. you-know-who, it's a fact that i wanted to read this piece of art when i was. well. serene. like early this morning.
iloveyou.
Post a Comment