Robert Kujawa


A Lost Thought

Eyes open from a well of time past the veil of a stubborn horizon.
Lost realms of reality no longer co-exist with the supple fabric of feeling.
Dreams begin to rise, lofting behind them the backdrop of darkness.
A space not awake yet alive, where vision refuses that in reality.
Borne is the time in every breath when that challenge is before us.
All the words, never said, disease the frame that portraits' existence
For fear they would become…
For fear they would just… become…

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