Rhythms and Rituals
A somber truth of naught the contents of thee.
Serving my penances a wall a door a new definition changing the names of thy days,
a lone piper playing kneeling in celebration of no harm this much I do.
Self unto self foolish hopes to disappoint to rejoice I could be your mirror.
Instead of always waiting silent voices to be invited striking from the shadows all that falls within,
a velocity beyond reach exterior discrete interior not so much.
Rhythms and rituals hiding in plain sight church bells ring,
just a step away from dust a time capsule of encrypted romance.
A lineal clock abandoned a head to be held high a head to be held low
and if my feet were to hit the ground each day I find the same.
Converging towards a vanishing point
the self-doubt I do not spare,
sleeping inside my head a future to bequeath.
Forgotten tombs evolving in the dark not gone but never been
the envy of one,
tantalizing and unintended stranded in space
my melancholy keep.
A new hole to dig a weakness for the untold
who do I serve?
To converge on thy day with the help of a myth to understand thee.
In the corridors of perception silhouettes glowing,
a silent unmasking pitch black and fragmented without movement I am.
In thy skin I mourn the business of thee,
to map thy mind of all that I created thy true self a fragile whisper.
The decoration of being seen a bitter separation from the rest, in satire I serve thee well.
Constraints of thy surroundings wide eyed and naive
a shrine that bends the mind opposing shadows feel free to comply,
descending in dreams an ever-changing equation playing hide and seek
we all have our seasons.
Constraints just shy of eternity
an awareness to be asked of put to flight but soon forgotten,
a stone a feather the importance of being neither here nor there
take me home take me home
finding a new explanation for what is wrong.
Intimacy and distance and if it was all to be set free the miracle of loneliness,
lurking in the remains of the destroyed a mistaken galactic dreamscape.
In a constant entropic state failed to detect a hidden evolution,
trophies of a homo sapiens.
The chalice of thee hurrying a fairytale laughing when I don’t have to,
on display a portrait of failure an attachment I was told to have
begging gravity to take over the sublime rings true
in the eleventh hour I am found.
Just a caustic carcass a self to inflate,
humanizing sight a past once escaped.
With or without a tether spirit granting,
my mourning my reality my prison cell
cry if there is nothing wrong.
Taking less giving less haunting depths
with these eyes I have achieved
a perpetual specter.
