Friday, August 16, 2013

The Needle Skips

The same dream, or should we call it a replica,
Burns the ethos of his sleep—Devouring the plagiaristic embers—of comfort, in which the happiness
Has stored, securely, as an incorruptible sheath

Layer upon layers, lies still somehow seep
Through each tier and over the previous, a parallel exists,
To the safe harbors, in which the fears find themselves squelched, amongst the flames that flee the fray

Columns merge with columns fallen,
Once majestic now dull and grey,
Blankets submerge the depths previously kept in submission,
Awakening the collateral—a damage resting silently in place

And to ad nausea, it folds again, and repeats into and upon,
Hovering and towering, enveloping a trance built in patience, embracing the key swallowed by the unconscious deep

Delving far past mortal telemetries,
Protracting what’s left of wisdom…we kneel
As our souls have silently found a place to weep

No comments:

Post a Comment