Stefan Bright
Music Producer - Visual Poet - Professional Photog…
How small we are in this thing of dreams, no wonder to behold.
How minuscule, how thinly masked, the grit that makes us tall.
We tower in our minds, alone, and revel in our ploys.
We think us greater than all else, and yet we play as toys.
No deep thought lingers, to move the world, no depth in our perception.
We travel in a mindscape vision, mighty lost, in wrong perfection.
But wait, a light awakens me, the fog of thought now tiring.
How silly, was there all along, just lost in my Self ‘miring.
The magic of life is simple and plain, it waits with patient breath.
The magic of life is willing and game, to love us beyond cosmic death.
How minuscule, how thinly masked, the grit that makes us tall.
We tower in our minds, alone, and revel in our ploys.
We think us greater than all else, and yet we play as toys.
No deep thought lingers, to move the world, no depth in our perception.
We travel in a mindscape vision, mighty lost, in wrong perfection.
But wait, a light awakens me, the fog of thought now tiring.
How silly, was there all along, just lost in my Self ‘miring.
The magic of life is simple and plain, it waits with patient breath.
The magic of life is willing and game, to love us beyond cosmic death.
