Poetry
The After Party
A Poem
Hello? Where is it that I am, and when?
Last I knew, I was there, and it was then.
You’re neither here nor there, nor anywhere.
We’re but ids in the ether now my friend.
The merest essence of who we once were,
Telepathy our sole means to confer
And the psychē, being, well, a psychē,
Can only defer, demur, or concur.
Eons have passed without physicality.
Egos wage war inconsequentially.
Cerebral aggression has evolved
into a pseudo-civility.
Here we are at life’s after-party,
Equals all without hierarchy,
Ascended beyond the physical
To this metaphysical anarchy.
Please read and follow Reece Beckett, a poet whose words below in his poem entitled “Time” definitely deserve to be considered, and not merely read.
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