reality is all metaphor

reality is all metaphor.

it's a mind-grip to be alive.

was I ever happy at being eternal?

now is a rapid slide show of conclusions

in the brain-room ongoing.

I take breaths as if refreshments consumed.

I hate to really ask,

but what does meaning mean?

I mean who really gets it?

I know that may seem strange to ask,

but meaning, it's just a form of gawking.

it's not real participation

and it's more like having a pit pass,

a kind of self -permission as a gloss.

but where is the payoff,

besides experience, memories and time-passage?

I am looking so forward

to getting beyond the myth of looking so forward.

if meaning is the hidden answer,

why doesn't meaning transform me?

so if there was no hidden

and there is all know,

where is the turn-on switch?

why would I want to live in a know residence?

I am only getting off 

on the new-found of knowledge

but not the essence of it.

there are puzzle pieces missing

or the puzzle has more dimensions

than I have table, time, means, and depth to grasp.

comparative truth is a dry-mouth of experience

and reality has no other-then-metaphor liquids to offer . . .