Real
An objective world before the eyes,
meaningless until we choose
to interact, our soul and it,
a panorama- lectern lit
by timely walk in ancient shoes.
Stone unturned, exposed and still,
it's still a stone with features hurled
until, it viewed and taken in,
a votive object- pressed to skin,
it only then becomes a world.
House, alike, is shell and stick-
precious nothing, fashioned foam.
The value that ascribes the loss
is memory, and love across
the ties that bind. Then this, a home.
A force within compels the turn-
a work, indeed- projected forth
through clearer lens and better view.
Lest dormancy reclaim anew,
we must progress., march forward- North.
The meaning thing applied to dross
projects a path to time and place.
It echoes forth long after dead,
subjective paints rock, rose, and red,
'to err' avoided: honored space.
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