Maud

There is nothing more

than an inconsistent melody

tickling my hollow ears,

and a myriad of images

blur across my eyelids

as I sit alone in my own mind.

Nothing more than silence

pierces the noise I expect.

My surroundings have become

nothing more than a puzzle

I can't solve.

As if imprisoned in a spell,

yet roaming freely where reality

is nothing more

than everything

I've never been able to understand.

Everything I have ever known

to be logical is nothing more

than my reality reversed.

Memories are distracted anew,

and are nothing more than

questioned stray thoughts

in the unconscious world.

Pondering mysteries is nothing more

than questioning a phenomenon,

challenging one's ability to grasp.

Emptiness is nothing more

than flying on the wings

of a clear mind,

and peace is nothing more

than snow falling

on a warm,

cloud-speckled day.