Painted Veil Poem by Brian Taylor

Millions of bubbles; bubbles, bubbles, bubbles.
Who could have thought that so small
could be the curse of all,
and source of all our troubles?

Microscopic seeds
encasing nuclei of fire.

Each germinates and breeds
subtle filaments of desire.
Desire slides in and overpowers,
making our best intentions fail
and weaves the warp and weft of the painted veil
which shrouds this world which is not ours.

Lift it?
It proliferates with every minute.

See?
Our eyes are trapped within it.

The world?
The world's a vast, empty machine
which thunders on,
blunders on,
silent and unseen.