Reflections Poem by Tom Billsborough

I gaze down spiral stairways,
Cerebral cortices of dreams
Seeking the true is
In the dark cellars of seems.
Is what I think I know
A temporary web
Of spiders stretched in corners
Of my mind and words
Mere flies buzzing
Before the entrapment
Of remote illusions.
I snatch at this and that
And draw conclusions
Mesmerized by a current hunger.
I am fed alone on what
My senses may impart,
Impartial and selective art
Of touches, sounds
Of form and colour arranged
In instant kaleidoscopic jigsaws.
But never see the exact picture
Or choose my own perceptions.