My Mind; Devour

 

Engulfing cardboard senses surround

while oil and amber scents are abundant

nothing remains as it seems

twilight ramblings; my mind devour

words lit like street lamps

over milky coldness, but such is a winters night

and stray thoughts abound

oh, but what do we have

and is it worth cherishing

or is it like torn scraps of paper

clinging to an emptying mind

insomnia ever-present, senses unflappable

this is the dance that will unite our souls as one

or untie them

perhaps we all dance as one

unwittingly negating effect whatsoever

this is the time to act

will sleep not come

never, barks the crow

herald, he is, of the unwanted

they never die until we let them

their acts remain among us until forgotten

is this creamy gossamer clairvoyance a child of the night

or is it waiting in the shadows

in night so clear and pitch nothing is hidden

if only we seek it, it is found

perhaps, herein lies profundity

then, to never again see the light of day once spoken

a beam of light parts the heavens

in search, oh, we are always searching

demons lie in our paths, yes

the past awaits us, lost in a fleeting moment

it is a constant struggle

such truths come when there is no record

no way to remember

or is their promise imagined, contextually

there is no way to be certain

on the riverbank of lost souls

there are too many who would speak to us

and our ears too few

free verse, the flowing of the mind brings forth the ages

as well as the shadows long past

a fearful reunion it is

deemed to take place on the brink of insanity

foredestined, forewarned, it is the pace that speaks to us, not the words

hard driving beat of the shadowy drummers

in the clash of ageless battle voices speak volumes of the past of humanity

prophets speak of the future

mere men speak the tongue of the present

we say all that was left in between

unsaid, undone, given no weight by the sinking sands of time

it floats like feathers on the wind

foul souls shed no tears as all is lost, in an instant

fingers numb from ripping cold

torturous life, all is lost as it is experienced

savor the honey of mother nature's golden teardrop

it is gone too soon

carry the ashes, never in the present, yet always in the future

tearing utterance of deterrence, thoughts cascading from the page

instead of into it, failure, the stream aches, broken by the dam

the child relates his sorrow to this

the thought is not yet lost