forebode, & sudden realizations
the depth of oblivion vast
I may change, refuse
tomorrow, completion
little things little thoughts
make a big impression of a man
feeling pitiful sickly old
cornered unaware
to be so wrong,
of safety, danger,
sincere of truth.
of them.
All this happening about
cries out inside
all of us fear
dying is but a stumbling
A toe stubbed
along the walk of live
breaks the stride
And all planned of destined
all hopes
memory the only remaining
a life not to accompany
more than a multitude of yesterday
I have wrapped a sleeping bag around my body, the day is ending slow
ebbing out its time
what is it passes for faith
passeds on a second glance
an in a view I do not see clear
blurred is reevaluation
And kept is the shadows growing
crowding sensual
refused confusion's color
pseudo monochromatic
love
authenticity
appear.
onward on the journey
march weighted without absence
wanting luxuriates conviction
the gauntlet of malign.
into or out of time
I'll be there in that moment
you arrive
if you leave a light on
the filament one day burns out
taking off my shoes
quietly at the door I muse,
who will it be that is sleeping?
Oh old world, be merciful
Fate, be gentle, with those still awake
for tomorrow,
sorrows may arrive
by ranks, & in legion
of an invading army.
& if not all we seem or deem
what is it then
that is but the means to end a dream?
Oh, dear soul,
won't you open your eyes?
I am here.
I remember you.



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