Oldest Dream

Meaningless thought suffuse my unknown mind.
Back and forth swings the pendulum
As it free falls down, spiraling faster
And faster.
For what purpose are these racing thoughts?
Circling with such a gusto as to spin
My canvas off its easel,
More and more rapidly out of my control,
This unseen pendulum that my paintbrush cannot
Paint for a juxtaposed series of
Miscommunications between canvas and brush.
Orbic objects circling with an
Increased acceleration always faster
And faster.
Almost as if it were a string,
Encompassing the all
More and more rapidly.  I can't grab it.
There is nothing there but I still feel it;
Still see the nonexistent string, imagining
A strand to hold and steady.
I know that it can't be contained,
Unless I let it flow with unfettered,
Undeterred omniscient freedom through
Me, could it conceive peace between
My silly art supplies.