There is a place <br />Where ideas come from <br />And you cannot know for sure <br />When you are actually there <br />Because all is imaginary in relation <br />To that which is already in existence <br />Or else, it is a copy <br />Of what someone else <br />Has brought back to us before... <br /> <br />Pure truth has no existence, <br />Being beyond within <br />The garden of originality, <br />Where all sorts of unearthy things <br />Are really grown <br />And some are plucked by the living- <br />The explorers, who like these things, <br />Have been transformed in this world <br />From the dust of another... <br /> <br />Love is grown among these wonders, <br />So, maybe love is an idea of truth <br />And maybe true ideas are love, too, <br />That strengthen the more they are used, <br />materializing each second clearer, <br />Certain, yet, vanishing undetected <br />Into dust again <br />When there is no belief <br />To keep them from returning again... <br /> <br /> <br />©All Rights Reserved-2011<br /><br />Romeo Della Valle<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/life-as-a-circle/
