The Shape Of Things

The Shape Of Things

The shape of things isn't always
What it seems, on the surface
A thin veneer, obscuring
That what appears as form
Is but normalised belief
A superfice disguising
That nothing lies beneath

Within the sworls, patterns nonetheless
Of matters unaddressed,
Journeys to be made
Emotions in constant
Yet discernible motion
Memories of a brief caress

No shape then, no outside or inner
Material is immaterial
The physical, trumped by the ethereal
Since time immemorial
It was forever just
Beyond our grasp.

@jonno 24/1/2023