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BCP JURIED CONTEST
Our Well of Oneness
Never runs out of you
My well of feelings never runs out of you.
When even the follicles of my skin ache,
Is it not a symptom of madness?
Madness in a solid form — a maenad is I,
Drunk on Grecian mead, flushed and bare,
Half sane and without a name.
Will my mind ever cease to multiply —
Recycle thoughts of you?
Will my eyes ever tire of sketching
Your silhouette upon a ceiling canvas?
Will my sixth sense ever unbind itself
From the ghost of your smile,
The shape of your soul,
The spirit in your walk?
Do you become one with yourself
As I do with my own?
We find oneness with each other
In the search for ourselves.
We meet at the bridge
Between dreams and reality,
In the cards — upright and reversed,
In the interludes between ballads,
And in the particles that change
Lead into gold.