A Recycled Me

Maybe my memories are like that of time, recycled over and over
My experiences like that of matter, creating my reality as my actuality through my memories
And my thoughts are like that of space, vast and yet are a result of my memories and experiences
Weaving the very fabric of the me I call as me

I am a fictionary element living in the dictionary
Defined by the Dictionary, confined by the images and intertwined by the images of my mind projected onto my mind

Cycle after cycle, recycled by my images
Revived by my images, recited by my images
I have become an image unto the image of my image

Unknown beyond my image, I am just a bond between my images, responding to my images, reforming my images
from the memories that memorized me, from the stories that mesmerized me
And yet I am surmised by the rise of the these prized memories

For the sunrise, I think I agnize is just another way to glamorize my image of the sunrise as my apprize for a rise

Aided by my images, graded by those images and shaded by the images within my image
Persuaded, degraded, barricaded and intoxicated by my images
I lead an experience of the past thinking I am fast not realizing that I am just a cast

A cast in the movie, created by the cast, for the cast to uncast the cast that cast the cast of this Mast I call me

I am the actor, I am the doctor, I am the redactor and the very common factor
For it is the I am that is the image of the I am that I think I am

This I am made me an I am for I am to show me My I am, to know me I am
So maybe, I am and I, and the I of the I am may loose its luster and its muster
to be free of memories, to be free of experiences that create memories that create the thought of My

And here, I wonder……

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No One Is Lonely

No one is lonely, No one is only
No one is alone, No one is one nor none
For the one to be the one, everyone has to become none to make the one everyone and none know one

To know one, to be none is to be no one with no reference to everyone
My perception may give me the me, the idea of me
For there is no me without another me

Each me is another me, all of me is no other than me
I let not the me divide me, separate me, enslave me
For when I am enslaved by my thought
I am another slave that is caught in the taught

Dictated by my thoughts
Directed by my not’s
Let not me dedicated to my knots
For then my knots become my clots, my plots
My plot for another spot, another slot, another fraught

A mind that is not here has no one near and yet everyone is dear
Fear not the mind that is here, hear not the grind of the mind that is dear
steer not to the bind of this blind find
For it is a kind of the mind and not the mind of the mind

The known mind is old, yet it is still my mold
for my habit is a known hold
So I be free of this fold, of that which is told, of that which is polled

A mind that is free, will neither wander nor plunder
And may ponder, may wonder, may be a splendor to its own wonder of the wonder
For I am neither One nor None or Everyone

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