Under Construction

There, in my mind, illusions.
May I resign these thoughts.
Cramming vacations into minutes.
There, the mind, creating work, seeing illusions.

But does the past dilute? Can it?
I must work, sit in this, alone.
It is blank, begging of description and art.
Oh and there's one, and there is another,
not of darkness, the thoughts but of light.

Armor, Heaven, God, Dynasty,
If no vision, just blots,
Awaiting alignment.
Of course Focus, that is the work.

Extinct the graveyard,
Warrior, Alchemist,
Supernatural is the prize
Infinite.

I am.

Infinite.