In the, Loneliness

Black of night, lights of orange, pipes of blue and green

And steel, lots of steel, it weaves

Wondering this industrial maze

The pipes, lights, steam, brew in haze

Sights up high toward fluorescent cannons 

Intimidate for this process

They transmit a strong beat of craze, a form of medusa-like gaze

Silence...

Silence then their pulse, which blurs vision and thought 

Fainting within mind

Tracking the halos with an eye

Seeing the hallucinations with an eye

Priorities became upfront and scatter

Logic deforms and years deteriorate

Values bounce and tease around the inner cerebral vision

Desperation's grasp finds a handle to steal 

These back

To hold onto, in the least

A need, the desperation to get these back 

A lifetime of focus, all floating unfocused, a need to...

Intercept what's becoming lost

Shepard and its lambs 

The first revision

A Shepard and its lambs

Social structure 

The pipes of industrial success

Limbs of a greater force

Their despicable farce

A fulfillment of desire;

My take: individual success

Balance

Collaboration on edges of equal leadership

Okay.

The wind blows

Gusts prevail

Grey sets in, lights go dim

Romance the lost grace

The second revision, the black of night

Love in its drowning grace;

Those abominations of lifelike hordes

Still walk all around

Horrors of the lambs collective disgrace

Their fulfillment of desire;

Another resistance across oceans of bodies

Bodies whose consist of pure unethical lust

Optimism, I digress, okay.

An aging, beaten, wooden door that squeaks till open 

Whilst sun shining through the damaged roof 

Onto the debris of lost journals

The rain it pours, centralized over these orthogonals

All that I try to grasp, my need.

Played down as old wise tales 

My mind, all outsourced diagonals 

Stress

Revision three, the orange light of fire,

Bogged down by unnecessary forces

Forces which struggle to hold onto a fulfillment of desire

These concerns should be nullified

And the devils relinquished of these privileges that burden

Access now forbidden 

That is the few of the few gifts of personal self-inflicted isolation

And complete, disconnection

Okay. 

A balance and accomplishment of regaining the senses

Instincts, and all values in the previous scatter

Anti-chaos reform, a strong exoskeleton, a stable mind

Until the "one" I let enter

All these tools act as my shield and beacon 

In the loneliest place on earth...

My mind, my incision of bleeding imaginative muck

But all I value as weapons

My body, this container

All become priceless investments

Engagements for my prowess

All invaluable, all become necessary

In the, loneliness   

Reviews

[Gobinder Singh Dhindsa]

Really lovely writing. I like your whole wording. Keep writing. Do you read mine to Anguish and She!