Identity- an empty shell
yet feel the limpet grip the scaur
and yes, it is a living thing
for at my touch it grips the more.
Are we the theatre of our time,
the characters that come and go
for if we radiate like stars
it is our centre we should know?
And if we be the characters
are we the author here, to say
‘lets take the memory we played
with and let us as actors, play’!
Our preconceptions vary so
and keep us tight unto the tether,
how will we ever know the love
that holds it all together,
how will we ever get parole
or will we ever make the break?
All space and time is irony
to live behind those bars we make?
Come look into the void of space
see what is dancing in your face,
and ask there, is the Milky way
a Roundelay, a Roundelay?
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