By Harry Bolman

Standing between the lines of reason,
I find myself on the outer edge of reality.
Here, your magic cannot touch me.

Alone. But not on my own.
As always, He is with me.

And as I reach into the corners of your mind,
an abstract picture forms for you.
Your reality henceforth created.

But what does it mean and what is it worth,
For you to see sounds and hear colours?

Somewhere here in this twilight stillness,
I can smell your touch and touch your smell.
Maybe the magician is still with us.
Inside, where the confines of space converge outwards,
is a time that will never exist.
Yet here I am taking a shower in it!

Here you are and there I am,
with words dancing merrily around us.
And we reach out with our nose and touch them.

Are you any wiser yet? Or like the others,
are you still caught in the game sequence?
Self-serving is not self-sacrificing.

To float through this existence requires much balance.
Bending rules as we go, knowing its not so.
And I congratulate your persistence.

Come back again some time.
Doesn’t matter when for it doesn’t exist.
Dance once more the rhyme

of the story you have missed.
Paint the picture. Sing the song. Write the words.
Dance the dance of reason.