There is not a wound
but the difference between us
it needs no doctor or nurse
nor bandage to be cleansed
for we would not exist without
the immeasurable calculation.
Oh to long for lies,
for you know what they are
and truth is hard
as a hammer which hits a rock
and both break.
Yet only with imagination
can we leap forth and back and
then again ; with all our models
to approxiomate the changing
measurements of where is now
between these moving points.
Oh to long for lies ;
It can't be forgotten, undone
for the breaking point
is the cracking sound in mind
which there shatter.
Is it delayed or ahead
in which direction do we travel
when each star is without order
or cyclus, in kaos enwrapped
There is only the interference
which remains between us.
Oh to long for lies.
Return to the innocense
the blissfull, sweet
taste of not knowing either
but to pass it by.
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