My Bucket

Well my bucket is empty,
a clear glass vase.
Metaphors of emptiness
could go on for days.

My task now is to fill it,
to fill it once more,
Of all the thoughts, memories…
the feelings that happened before.

I’ll embark on a journey.
Inward, you see.
But my velocity will be faster
than any physical speed.

For the Universe, really,
it’s whatever we think.
And I can conjure a tale,
before you can wink.

Time is relative,
related to those who perceive.
Time for bed now.

Dreams launch upon the eve.


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