The agony of consciousness

I once sold
my weak thoughts
with a wish of finding
myself.
Sailed closer to a cliff
from the fields of consciousness
to a nightmare.
Face to face with the abyss;
a dewy mirror where
I could catch a glimpse of reality
through someone else's eyes,
and saw a screaming,
fading shadow searching
for an image of
itself
among the strong catching arms
of lies
Did I then understand that
my weak thoughts
were a hugh price for
a reflection
without a soul?

1997 © Ingvild Gregersen

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