Talk no more

Of thee and me, the future and the past..

Earth and Ocean, Space, and the isles of life or light that gem

The sapphire floods of interstellar air,

This firmament pavilioned upon chaos..

This whole, Of suns and worlds, and men and beasts, and flowers

With all the violent and tempestuous workings

By which they have been, are, or cease to be, 

Is but a vision: all that it inherits are motes of a sick eye,

Bubbles and dreams; thought is its cradle and its grave, nor less

the future and the past are idle shadows

Of thoughts eternal flight, they have no being. 

Nought is but that it feels to be. 

 

 

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