Lower than the lowest cloud — higher than the highest tree —
Brighter than the brightest sun — darker than the deepest grave —
What are these thoughts — but almost — not quite — all — or none — of me?
What are these things — but imagined — distinguished — company?
What are these wings — but the wind’s — divine — philosophy?
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Categories: New Poems & Pieces
Tags: Clouds, Consciousness, Crows, Flesh and Spirit, Imagination, Impressions, Mind and Body, Philosophy, Poems, Poetry, Thoughts
William Michaelian 