The Players

Sitting, waiting, hoping, knowing.

Wishing, wanting, holding, knowing.

Swirling waves, touching glimpses,

Riding spirals, lives unfolding.

Housed within visceral virtuals,

Constructed illusions of realities splash --

Across this screen.

Such convincing creators are we,

Fooled...lost...within our own Reality.

I sit on the knee of God,

Turn, glance back

Over my shoulder,

...And find me.

Beaming reels of stories and scenes

On films unfurling from my eyes,

Projecting on screens

Like words and seeds,

Sprouting roads and trees,

Thoughts and deeds,

Illusory fears and imaginary needs.

Where does it lead?

Where...

Does not exist, son.

It sits with When, conspiring with How

In the great forgetting we bought

When we left our hat at the door

So we could take our seats

And enjoy the show.