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Like Synapses

by Christopher J Davidson

3:18 AM
A nervous system
reaching it's fingers
for a touch, some sensation.
This height tells of places,
of other languages,
reaching out to the inevitable,
reaching past it's grip.
Then nothing...
Only the black that envelops
and dulls the senses,
leaving an alone and empty feeling.
Not a single spark
shimmer or shine,
the synapses firing off
into an oblivion filled with
time, space, and nothing;
traveling to meet the next
A hundred miles
...or a few minutes;
Firing off, through,
and onto the next;
like spiders with
attention deficit disorder;
Small areas packed with
feeling and motions and emotions
and trailing off somewhere
between progress
and a finished product;
Like a river that runs
for miles
before deciding to stop
Like synapses

firing off

into oblivion.


Author's Note: Written in a plane above South America.

Posted on 07/08/2007
Copyright © 2023 Christopher J Davidson

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 09/03/07 at 11:36 PM

From a distance appears to be the key here. Appearances can be deceptive. An intriquing look at the world from a distance.

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