am I going crazy?
I might be
the world does madden me
well
just a little but it's growing
like a vine
stretching across my consciousness suffocating my sanity

all the voices become one indecipherable
splatter
of painted sound
to the inside of my ears

just noises now
loud obnoxious croaks
screeches
and booms

they pour forth from spitting mouths
just jammering
of meaningless subjects
a matter of fact of which I don't care

but it is the nature of this jungle
a fact of life
that I should be this way

my only cure to the chaos is to hide away
behind my veil of isolation
at least that is what I tell myself
as I slowly turn the key
to the lock in my head

I sit down near an old tree,
or what could be mistaken as such
a man was planted there like one at least
I gaze in his direction curiously
Looking for answers to questions not yet asked

the lines on his face draw attention
depicted tales
crooked trenches of battle
stubbled stories of history
lessons learned from repetitive struggle

yet

his soul peers out from behind his rugged vessel
revealing images of a hopeful spirit
a softer surface than the rock before me
a kinder presence hidden from all but the studious

though no words need be exchanged
enough had been spoken
I leave him alone in his stead
to continue burning his candle

I wondered afterwards, as I do so often
maybe that light has been shared with me
maybe the man is a reflection somehow
or a messanger of conscious direction

oh, if only one could learn so much from a glance
Imbibe in a moment what took another a lifetime
then all would be fine, all questions with answers found
and I would find peace in my peculiar state

the smell of smoke
and all is burning
windows melting
gears stop turning

the touch of dirt surrounds me
looking out but can't see
and this fractured place above my shoulders: an empty space...

when did we fly away?
When did we lose ourselves to fate?

I felt your halo burning beside me
you traveled far away
but I am still here drowning in silence
counting away the day

the smell of hope
my love is burning
I'm still melting
world is turning

wish we could turn back time
back to the place where we lived
where we were holding hands
breath in the air once again

wish I could reprimand
bury all of the pain
within in the sand

the smell of smoke
asphyxiating
colours melting
wheels still turning

wish I could understand
hold all of your love
in my hands
once again

floating on a sea of blood
born of our heart's sins
drifting slowly while faced apart
in boats of our own skins

like memories dropped on still waters,
we become cognizant of each other
by the echos of our waves

filled with but an anamnesis of us
this liquid plane;
landless space between,
our forms become intoxicated
as if they were soaked in gin
the taste transmuting
from pungency to bliss

churning tides of rumination,
hurricanes of emotional rot
eddied at our shores
from hair's end to finger's tip

soaked, we are
in the torrents of our yearning
waiting for the maelstrom of appetency
to catch us in remission

mine arm grows weak
from carrying this sword
now broken and lame
I've taken stead of confusion
losing my vision, seeing only within
but there's much a contradiction
it spreads through my head
in torrents of attrition

leaving eroded landscapes
of what was once rife with colors
of life observed
only felt now
remnants of what once had sight
it's all bad design
provoking lines of thought
about reasons for naught
becoming empty space
erased, void of purpose
and somewhat displaced

and yet, somewhere thereout
way beyond what could be scoped
lies the answer to the riddle
that occupies my conscious abode
so I look on with perplexed face
maybe--

maybe my curiosity baits the beast
a living resolution and key to inner peace
it seems logical
somehow
to stare into the paradox
that is and always has been
the solution within...

t'was way beyond the pier
that a tune she did hear
serenading her ears
luring sounds that turned gears
she came braving her fears

melodies of folklore
though more than metaphor
pace low beside field crops
hail high over treetops
and between their long legs

words of gradual grace
dance to timbre in jest
to disturb silent rest
with chords as bright as light
and words as dark as night

she walked along the shore
until she stood before
fingers forming a bridge
pulling her deep within
between the broken ridge

calls of the canary
walk the tributary
under the sky's red eye
bathed in its scarlet light
within the black twilight

observing closer now
golden pieces of art
pierced the walls of her heart
luminescent light shows
complete at midnight's close