Mental Boarders

We are all buried alive,

smothered in the atmosphere’s stratus hive.

With pickaxe and shovel and so much pain,    

we dig to survive.

Our complicated neural system gives us the feeling of life.   

Confused by shapes, concepts and emotions,      

I am sure I am buried, oh so deep,

beneath this ”Physical Ocean.” 

My fingers are cut down to the bone,

from tearing and clawing a path

through this living syndrome.

My mind I think, is my only friend,

I know it will be with me, to the bitter end.

I am in awe at the beautiful flight of doves,

creating the illusion of melancholy clouds that     want to be here.

How they can float in this transparent  atmosphere,

devoid of fear?

Never to be crushed from the weight of love on  their shoulders,  

they thrust themselves into the air beyond mental borders.

I grieve at such things. 

I yearn to touch their wings.