Reflected on the streets to Nowhere

thought on dimensional possibility

Walking the cranky steel toed streets I can remember the days when matter had a way of construing your fantasies into reality, a parlor with a wilting wicker rose gateway, the secret door to escape from the world. I loved these portals, these imaginary black holes to the unknown that lingered in the stale impotent state of reality. Knowing of them has always been half of the battle but as I walk these streets I see the damnation of these shaded windows rich with secrets of fraud and infidelity but since when did these structures crumbled up by the hands of man gain moral opinions?
Knowing these repetitive drum beat footsteps the hard cement taps it’s irritation right back against these rebounding souls strapped to my feet, worn so thin there is only spirit left in their frays. It’s noting the paths to these dimensions severing them from it’s gray pasted world. I watch the holes closing, swallowed by the worlds that neglect them and touch them with no remorse, like a lovers limp body left in the snow to freeze and shatter to nothing and slip away like the morning dew sweating from the grass as feet tossed blades lick their brows with monstrous force.
I’m losing them surely but the reflection is there looking back at me with it’s unanimous vote of confident color, the world just beyond touching peering out in mere reflection as the pathways are closing leaving only these momentary stains fleeting in the corners of my eye. I feel them I see them but their moving right past every steps distorting the view into something discontinued to only be caught in a forgetful haze.
You know these ways as I do in your commuting stupor your eloquent steps whistling the songs of the places your going and the worlds your touching, your blissful ignorance staining you with colors unknown as you dwindle out and teeter in to the realms of existing and wishful being all in a moment of mindless consciousness. You know these roads that I walk on my path of absolution, these streets that are heading to nowhere as you walk them too, following the light lined decorated strips malls battered and caked in falsified makeup, a pretty package missing its bow with a sense of completion, heavily embedded only in aesthetic , seen.. but only for a second by the inconsistent mind. You know these worlds without a whisper of their being and in the window of your eye their remains, soft and crippled can be found , only to be wiped clean by the cool calm caress of the night , blackness uniting all the prisms that remain unbound, only for the gentle kiss of the sun to breath them back in the animated warmth morning.

The worlds within the windows is not untrue
The world within the windows is not bound
The world within the windows knows you
The world within the windows does not need your conscious admission
The world within the windows is waiting

You are found..

You are not needed..

You are wished for..

You cannot be kept..

But the windows still remain as only their frames will know their pane
A dimensional Lazarus with an eternity to reflect upon

Reviews

[Avoiry]

prose wasn't showing up as an option sadly

[Hippy]

idk if its poetry maby prose idk but it does have some interesting points, if you cut it up into key points in poetic form then it would be