Poem By Evan Skora
An easy thing to demolish,
A gentle beast needing a hug,
The sweet caress of the dieing wind.
Light and color is all we see,
Everything can be taken down to tiny little molecules,
Creating the muffin in our mouth,
Causing the pain in our stomachs.
In darkness, nothing is real,
The hand in front of your face dies,
Is it real anymore?
Is it still there?
Close your eyes and everything disappears,
Light is lost,
And with no light there is nothing around us,
We reach out but know not what the object is.
So can we be sure anything is real,
Or the way light is,
The sunlight pouring down,
The lamp giving light to the room,
Does it refract what something or someone else wants us to see?
Pick up a teddy bear,
Then close your eyes,
Is it still a teddy bear?
Of course in our mind it appears.
But is that the actual bear,
Or simply a memory?