The Mad Hatter

July 24, 2014

Abstract.

I feel as though all I am is all that is abstract. That everything that seems to be, merely

isn’t. So...everything that was, has never been? Or was everything that was, was, but I

chose to see it as something that it wasn’t? Was everything that was wrong really right?

Right. Right is left and left is write? Writing, I sit here writing, reading a story that isn’t a

story at all.

Compelling, this telling of a tale is

but did you know....

Many have heard those tell of tales,

but I have heard those tale of tells.

Why me? Go ahead and ask and you’ll see.

Oh my, I would gladly tell, but I haven’t the time you see.

I keep time, but time seems to keep me.

All is all, or has all always been just me?

Let me introduce myself...

Or have you already met me?

Something wrong with this poem?

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