There is an accomplice to my hand,
Which is apt to mirror the eye.
Yet in this reflected vista
There exists little which is as plain as life.
What was intended to accompany the soul,
Is in conflict with the souls’ true reality.
The substance of reasoning,
The recollections with which I think,
Are not necessarily always of this place.
They are of the characteristics
Of an extra consciousness.
The language used is simply a tool,
Like a crane,
Which lifts and transfers concepts.
The accomplice to my hand then
Is the mind.
All that is sensed during our period,
Is subject to interpretation.
Life gets compressed in memory,
Through the process
And purpose of explanation.
The important values in life
Are not to be discovered in packets,
Neither are they existent
In things mechanical.
C2019 Chris Thompson