LINES OF THOUGHT © 2013

Like a static stone, sometimes I find myself,

In reserve, quiet, in my own little shelf,

Observing the world that spins all around,

Without haste, without longing, just the silence profound.

In my condition, I make the gaze

A safe refuge where I can stay,

And every detail that passes and slips

Stays trapped in the soul, where time never clips.

But deep down, I am the clown, I know,

For not following the caravan that advances in tow,

I choose another rhythm, another place,

While the world rushes, I prefer to embrace.

Am I mad for such a choice?

Or perhaps just a dreamer, giving voice?

In my static stone, I see and I feel,

That sometimes, the wisest is what seems surreal.

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