Would you be pleased just to get away?: A poem

I live like an interminable star in a wormhole,

seeing everything flit between one orifice

and the other; everything transmute from fire

to crystal to stone; and I only live for a measure

in an immeasurable time. Do you see I feel

my aloneness, yet touch my soul’s harpsichords

as the choir of love within me breaks into an orchestra

for such a huge audience?! I am just made to be the dust

of eternity, traversing through time, through the solar flares,

and starry gusts, and wearing out of creation and its resurrecting;

and black holes eventually demonising the crusts of light!

Is it all an illusion, an imagination, a three-dimensional dream?

And the dream can either manifest as a fantasy or a nightmare?

Is there an awakening, a trumpeting reality that is far from

illusory weirdness? Who can signal the end of an infiltration, the end of

treachery? Is the flag of freedom burning to flagellate me or is it flagging

 me off? Can the lights within be tonsured by an overwhelming external

 darkness of fraud…Something you resisted because you believed in

the unconquerability? If you think you cannot be subject, when you think it is

enough suffering to let go of the pain, would you be pleased just to get away?!!!