The thunder of gods
Hitting like a stone,
Yet fragmenting
Like hollow glass;
An insufferable impact
Followed by a spectral radiance
Of the refractive prisms
Which now litter
Our wandering minds.

I’m the whisper
Among the piercing scream;
The subtle vertigo
Of an early morning dream.

I’m the darkest burning star;
Your wandering mind
When you’ve gone too far.

I’m the voice you could not hear;
The voice you should not fear.
Advice that most abhor,
Given with an air of valor.

Don’t follow my whispered suggestions,
All it becomes is bad recollections.

Without constraint,
Without boundaries,
Emotion persists
Through the trials of time.

The purest expiration;
The train has left the station
There’s no need to lie it out
There’s no need to contain it
It’s just a small remainder;
What’s left of our container
But shattered resonation?
A silenced inhibition
Led me to emotion.
There’s no thoughts to control,
This mind just isn’t whole.

Youthful spring,
Slowly drawing itself towards winter.
We wish it would stay forever,
But time grows old,
As all things do,
And barren days
Arrive in a haze.

All seems lost and lifeless,
But hope is not yet futile,
Because spring lies beyond
The approaching horizon.

As we make this mess whole,
We look into the distance, intoxicated
By the silent, corrupt vessel.
A terror once prominent, now abated.

A sickness soon to grow,
But the infection has long sat, dormant.
Break the dam, beckon in the flow,
And watch as we sing our silent lament.

As I look beyond the ocean,
The horizon’s phantasmic light
Reflects a midnight’s oasis
Of never ending stars;
A planetary pastel painting
This distantly endless expanse,
Bringing color to my eyes,
And life to the world.

It’s this lightly salted bliss
Which I’ll come to miss.
No matter how much I move forward,
I’ll wish “once more” to see this.