Incompleteness

These thoughts are forever secrets
and a performance, in confidence,
cannot reveal the existence of this existence.
For the telling is an incompleteness,
merely a fragment escaped,
a means to a beginning,
at best a sincere message
from a dreamer.

And so, these mysterious lyrics
permeate the salubrious aether,
to travel how far, to where?
Then to divulge a half-truth,
or representation,
or model that sits on shadows,
twix black and white,
existence and illusion.

Now, what makes of signs the signatory?
Thinks, “Transmutation in dispatch,
notwithstanding the madness in creation.”
Thus, how might significance be deciphered?
Can uncertainty reveal reality?
Or must infinity embrace even reasoning,
eternity blemish the resolution?
These thoughts are forever secrets.

©2011 Hey Hey