The stream of consciousness <br />begins with one drop <br />that collects itself <br />in a corner <br />by the door. <br />The flow of images <br />eclipses <br />into radiance <br />at the sudden drop <br />of one word. <br />The mirror reflects <br />only <br />what it sees, <br />so that the images <br />increase in an <br />illusion on the floor. <br />The beginning of the end <br />has already begun, <br />in that <br />the drops of sun <br />can't collect anymore.<br /><br />Chris G. Vaillancourt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/drops-of-sun/
