Lost Poem by Jeff Rushton

The book written, paper filled with words, but the eyes see only white blur
White, clear, transparent, the left over memories from an adventure not far from the present
Scrabble, the game you play with every word, phrase, and rhetorical essay
Peek-a-boo, where are you?
The never returning thought of the time
A day, two, three, week, month, no matter to you, a minute has past in your rear view
The explanation is plain and in clear view, but the listeners imagination is limited to a comparison of his experience tying a shoe and your ability to play the flute
An experience rare, indeed but held close to the heart due to the inability for many to see
I lost my mind on a ride to see, but I gained a vision of a dimension previously unknown to me
Blessings arise which give us a new view of life
A view of NOTHING...
Pure and true, the blessing we seem to forget in remembering.