Our Sliding Existence Poem by Marieta Maglas

I am in the prison of my mind.
I think it is the shadow of a sound.
It seems to be so real.
I think I hear the rude raindrops
Shrieking on the asphalt.
It seems to be only the eaves drip,
Or maybe there is the clatter of
Hoof-clipped stones
And the scrape of gravel down.
I see a light, I think it is a thunderlight.
It seems to be only an electrical explosion.
I open the window and
I see everything unclear outside.
I think it is the smoke from a burning building.
It seems to be only fog in the air.
I think your hair smells like imperial lily flowers.
It seems that the lily blooms
So beautifully in the vase when steeped
In front of our window.
I am in the prison of my mind,
In our sliding existence.

Poem by Marieta Maglas