Wandering streets by light’s artifice,
Empty, the mute air broken by testimony in the distance,
The sound of specters, regions encompassed
By illusory thoughts, obstructed
With pillars of powerful mortality
Reaching for divinity’s state,
(Within the mind of man)
To fund the drug of existence indefinite.

“Folly”
A voice speaks in slow tones, each letter a distinction,
The sound is lost but rings within, as a profound truth
It echoes to immeasurable depths in knowledge’s abyss,
A ripple disturbing the amniotic fluid of the lake’s womb,
Daring to affect all regions, to reach
Under the gloom of an overlying fog.

“How deep was the shore unsettled?”
Drowning from this wayward journey,
A will departing from this worldly abode
Unaffected: Actions Constant; Lives Unchanged;
Distant memories of an era
Unbound, of recurrence
Subjective in contemplation,
Unvaried in presence.

A breeze perpetually intermittent
Stirs mute forms with half-truths,
Appeals to the half of the form wandering in dreams;
Offering guidance to the worn traveler
    On interminable journeys, in need of a light,
Is a wind present in truth,
Slight in stature…Confounding.

Gusts pushing but a hair
Have moved bodies unified
In massive incontinence over
Millennia to building pillars standing in the present to be
Overshadowed (incinerating abundance alone,
Leaving debris of a dilapidated artifact housing
Broken forms who forgot the meaning of aspiration;
Residue of a hollow shell once pouring sweet nectar
In a golden chalice of residents),
To be overshadowed by a pillar
Reaching further into the sky
No longer above, but nearly level.

A breeze caressing skin vulnerable,
Felt, not by its strength,
But by a principle of self-awareness,
An ego anxious to be in the moment, Luminescent!
      Against the drab grays
Of structures surrounding,
A chain and snare
Masked with dreams of perfect improving;

“Freedom”
The voice speaks to foreign shore,
These lands distant course an exception
By the scrutiny of eyes;
A mind will fly across borders
Impassable by the traveler of steady paces,
But to fly is to fall (control not issued),
With air the restraint, a benevolent master
Granting sustenance to the captive raptors.

“How long have I fallen?”
The rapture of the action,
A dispiriting ecstasy, drawing
The dead youthful shell of aged dreams;
Lesser dreams have built pillars,
Babel’s Towers unifying herds
In organized disunity of a civilization,
Uncivilized structures unified by constructs,
By equivocal plights hissing a message
To follow the roads taken by their model;
To keep in mind the fate of the Titans,
To build unto the sacred grounds, Consecrated
By glory’s honored notions.

“Escape”
To the foreign shores of high regard,
Accessed by the dreams of noble foolery –
A mystic’s paradise of nothing being only what it is,
Of proportions even in the rational and palpable,
A balanced equation that has led to zero;

Musing at such a world, the voice speaks
Of a figure that found its way from sea to shore,
Curiously staring beyond the object of
Focus, it takes a handful of sand;
Clasping firmly, a few grains slip away.

This figure, this voice incarnate
Of the known and unknowable
   — Imperceptible Depths —
Replies sternly to the question imposed:

  Measure the days that I have fallen,
  They are but grains of sand
  Slipping carelessly through the creases;

“Grasp what cannot be held”

  The option is yours to continue holding on
Gripping tightly on every grain
  To find it trickle away,
  Or to open the hand and let every grain fall

                          At once

The figure was devoured in a mist spreading over land
   During the battle between the sea and shore
      Where the nebulous spirit conquers all.

Suddenly against the bane, reality,
The voice developed into a face;
Listless eyes scanned the crafts of concrete and steel,
Of blurred distortions and mutable features
Dull and eyeless, insignificant on the mirror-less window;

With a sigh dispersed and lingering in the restless master
  The structures immediate were quickly dispelled,
The face proceeded, servile to its own will,
From the effects of progress;

The wind continues to deteriorate resistance,
The nomadic tribes obsequious to its every exertion,
But from the herd a figure rises
Out of the currents steadily flowing,
Off of the paths familiar to the taking, and in
To the impenetrable wilderness —
   Without a light.


End.