There are lines to this scarcity.
Hidden obstacles filled with joyless doubt.
Now that I am in…the dead air is coming out!
A covert world we all must go thru…
and, the question remains…
‘Will I have the courage to go without you?’
The grass beaded with dew and the…aromatic earth…
does not quench my soul as it used to.
Lying and dying have become art forms.
A certain style giving unto…laughing…crying.
Courage in the blinding light of day can whisk the unthinkable webs away.
Nonetheless, the night…with its sporadic fits of sleep…
Still begs for valor’s retreat.
More to a vestibule for the dying
More to the communion
More of obsession’s admiration
More to those who fly
More to those who do not ponder why
Over and above…I keep the gods lowercase
Over and above, the stone dead and gone
Less of a willingness to comply
Less of puppy’s in the window
Less photographic harmony
Less bouncing joy on bended knee
“Let me go” I say, more or less
There is a quiet place, more or less
Oh, sporadic the occasions of an unwanted guest
I do not dare…look back.
However, I am drawn to a sudden, slight, turn of fate.
A quick hesitation, powerful…and, distant like an ill flying kite.
There are seconds to oblivion…there I am…a dream.
No longer of this earth.
My sight no longer seen.
A mistress to control…
No attempt, no mystery, no exit in which to flee.
Threaded, hallow, posts demeaned by metal thoroughfares.
Soon I could be a speeding holy ghost.
Nothing but a steel skid mark host.
A crippling glance had been the commencement to the conclusion.
All roads must lead somewhere.
Every waterfall brings disrepair.
Fate has an ironic tone…painting by number.
Elaborating in the future.
with eloquence…bleeding into the past.
Leaving behind a present that fades fast.
In all manner of ability some find a way to get back home.
Limping, crawling, scratching.
Many have been born to die.
Figments of imagination.
In the corners of the onlooker’s eye.
Wondrous and awful are thy silent halls,
O kingdom of the past!
There lie the bygone ages in their palls,
Guarded by shadows vast;
There all is hushed and breathless,
Save when some image of old error falls
Earth worshiped once as deathless.
And, if sometimes a moaning wander-eth
From out thy desolate halls,
If some grim shadow of thy living death
Across our sunshine falls
And, scares the world to error,
The eternal life sends forth melodious breath
To chase the misty terror.