Does humour exist between the reality of situation
And perception of that which is occurring?
Do we really spectate these sporting events we call
Our daily lives as that of an armchair quarterback?
Rather, do we retain our helmet and pads that don't allow
 Full flexion of muscles and full range of peripheral vision?
Likewise, does the box exist that holds me trapped or
Do I just perceive that which my emotions allow?
Did I trip the twig that held the box agape
While I brushed past to pick up the treat underneath or
Was I drawn to the dollar on a string while some children
Waited around the corner snickering?
With conundrums aplenty and no exclamation points
For the multitude of question marks
Sanity seems just an inch from slipping off the seat
And into the swirling waters below
Yet the visage that calls me back to reality
Much like that of a church bell tolling from afar
Is the fact that the murky black water of my innermost psyche
Understands that nothing can ever really be known
Nothing can ever truly be understood and
Nothing can ever honestly be believed
Until the burden of proof
Is lifted off the shoulders of Atlas
Opened as that of a treasure chest
And exposed for its true appearance
Uploaded 10/20/2011
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