Before i knew of it, did it exist?
So now that i know of it, was there something i missed?
Isn’t it only a figment, a thought, a vision?
If it’s truly there, why have i no precognition?
Just because we call it a door, does that make it a door?
When suddenly it goes out of sight, is it a door to us no more?
Call it then timbers joined to keep the in from out,
Surely before i knew a tree from a tree, no curiosity it brought about.
Stood before the beauty o the tree i have little doubt you are real to me,
Until i close my eyes and see that you are no more than a memory.
An image inverted onto where the retina may conserve
A photograph fired along the optic nerve.
Where lies this photo library, the vast image bank?
Drifting in the soul or swimming in the think tank?
Do things exist because we wish them to be?
Is all knowledge a posteriori or a priori?
And clouds above what forms you take,
As journeys through my mind you make,
And waking hours make smug slaves of men,
Who see not reality fragmented and broken.
Does wakefulness inform our dreams?
Or is this life not quite what it seems?
Two mirrors positioned face-to-face,
And you in between the infinite space.