Is It Not? Poem by Michael Walkerjohn

Four score and
seven… plus three
perceptional objects
of heady faculty, one easily
senses how truth rules a room.
Silent awareness, awe within sixth
sense; the question in this moment
is thus… What was the forest called
before it was called a forest? For a
forest is not necessarily so… One's
mind touches, and as this never is
to cease, as all matter; is simply
energy in universal natures just
what object does mind become
after the body/husk is no longer
touched by its mind? Persistence
and training, may induce; an answer
for the questioning individual… residual
imaginative narratives produced through
consciously exerting one's mind into the
spaciousness of what time may so be…
for this is time that may be or not and
this is a potentially reachable thing…
is it not?