I wish I knew where I come up with some of the things I write, and this is ONE of them. I DO understand what I have written, but sometimes believe others wonder where MY mind was when I did write it. Anyhow, random thoughts on a quiet summer day with just my mind going on with a tangent of thinking….

What is Real 2016-53

What is real in ones tormented mind,

Trying to find the truth in its existence

 

How can one separate the thoughts, troubled

As believed, from those perceived

 

A spongy mass of insensitive matter,

Capable of holding so many feelings

 

Vying for attention in everyday life

Coming to mind in an unorthodox manner

 

Does it twist to suit its fancy

A devious thing beyond belief

 

Can it, in fact, fool its owner

In believing in things that are not

 

Or is it instead an unopened door,

With the unknown lurking behind

 

Waiting to spring on its hapless host,

The reality of life as it is.

 

I feel like a freaking hypocrite at times; most times

Not being the real “who” to others

 

Bout time the real me stands up to be counted

And let others know just who I really am

 

Den Betts