Life As a Circle
There is a place
Where ideas come from
And you cannot know for sure
When you are actually there
Because all is imaginary in relation
To that which is already in existence
Or else, it is a copy
Of what someone else
Has brought back to us before...
Pure truth has no existence,
Being beyond within
The garden of originality,
Where all sorts of unearthy things
Are really grown
And some are plucked by the living-
The explorers, who like these things,
Have been transformed in this world
From the dust of another...
Love is grown among these wonders,
So, maybe love is an idea of truth
And maybe true ideas are love, too,
That strengthen the more they are used,
materializing each second clearer,
Certain, yet, vanishing undetected
Into dust again
When there is no belief
To keep them from returning again...
©All Rights Reserved-2011
poem by Romeo Della Valle
Added by Poetry Lover
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