Absolute planes.

Find me something absolute,
Find me something with solid edges and clear planes.
Show me, if you can,
Something that fits in measure glasses,
Or compacts into mortar, and holds whole bricks up to cast shadows against light.
Find me this, solid and whole.
But find it for me most,
Absolute.

Immovable. Irrefutable. Untaintably,
real. So sure of its existence,
So certain of it’s truth that I can rest my elbow upon it,
In yards, or metres or milli-inches, that I too,
Can show myself against it,
Can realize these bones I hear,
And know myself,
Immovable. Irrefutable. Untaintably
Whole.
An absolution.

Let me not linger in the maybe,
Of the fate of existing.
Forgive me from hovering in the atomic questions of faith and being.
Save me from the limbo of disappearing when I close my eyes.
From being unsure,
If I am yours,
If I am here and real at all,
If I can be held as one and a mass beyond illusion and dream.
If I have surface and width and planes that exist,

As absolute.
As salvation from becoming, and going,
And alls and nothings.
I ask you,
Make me whole.
Show me just one thing.
And let me weigh myself upon it.
So I can cease from this maybe of being.
And know once and for all.
If I am here.
If I really exist.

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