Strawberry Dreams Poem by Bengt O Björklund

Dying at the hands of mortal dysfunction
one man is but another man’s intention
and as all roads with agony reel and rivet
without the sound of the one eye blinking
I see no reason not to go on
flinching to the tunes of yesterday.

I am no less than the sum of all trees
and all other visible attributes
of the omnipresent substance of which
we cannot speak, imagine or fathom.
I am an old bumblebee trapped
in a flabbergasted spider’s web.

Seriously, no man can ever comprehend
the implications of that which can only
be explained within itself, of being I
in the perpetual infinity of being more
than the other more can ever understand.
Thus I cherish strawberry dreams.