Further extrapolations of previous doctrines masquerading as novel insight 
Solomon was said to say that there was nothing new under the sun
What has been said before is surely to be said again
But in a thousand different ways
Colors
All eluding to the same thought: This isn't real. 
This isn't real. 
Platonic forms and what not.
A glimmering shade of the real behind the veil. 
So much so steeped into our reality, that this non-reality, that it expresses itself through our very own devices
Mediums of consumption.
Screens holding windows into fictional realms of passed by moments and segments long gone to reality.
Furthermore, fictionalizations of the false reality -
what was referred to as hyper real
Rather Subreal, to the point of where surreality becomes the perceived reality
Only perceived as real by the perciever but unable to apprehended or -
objectively known. 
False moments become crystalized versions of themselves - the reflection of a mask masking another mask.
The face is never known - 
The first and final thought - 
What is real?
Further down the hallway of mirrors we traverse 
Growing dimmer and more shadowed until we blur into darkness and any remnant of the originating light has been stretched to thin 
And we have arrived to the point of no return 
Beyond the event horizon of perception 
Unable to ever return 
Ignorant that there ever might have been something to return to
A black hole sun
A lie universally and eternally taken as truth
No need for further discourse T
This is "real".
This is "real".

Bare the weight of it all?
Or join the simplicity?

Is it all dire?
Do I conflagrate into the night?
Or ride the wave to sunset?

we wear the faces of those we love,
like glove of lovers mask,
we bask in their aura and are left unfamiliar with our old faces,
but trace a new etch by way of nuance and gest impressed by their forms and the love they express.

font of life glowing white with water clear
atop the tower of life; a strength held dear
down the water flows into the lands green near
draining color drear to give life to grays
fear not for they are one and the same

Man  of twine and brimstone
Heart and Eyes search for home
Found! Found! A cave Alone
Cool and damp and Safe from heat

Filled with Berries; wine to ease
Ivy grown thick, grown to please
From both vines a lady breathes
"Give me you, I'll give home"

Man alone never knows
By his throat a thorn-ed rose
Drink to fill, she overflows
Cool and Vines and Far and She

Away! Away! City teems
Loud and Hot and Dry and Bleed
Oh so far away from he
Cave of Dreams; sleeps alone

Vined cave begins to moan
Song of Songs; Song of Home
Deeper come, Deeper glows
It sings to him, from the Deep

He can't, He won't try to see
The Cave - it's depths, can't glow sweet
The Song, The Vines, Cold - it sweeps
Further Deep, down alone

Cities Light, far it shone
Cities Rage, welcomed tone
Not Eyes, Nor Ears Yet Bone
Remembers alone the streets

Remembers alone the heat
The Laughter, the Bleed, the Screams, Dreams of Brothers, Mothers, Flowers, Turrets and hubbub, cobblestone and smiles, snarls and color, teeth and smirks, scent of sweat, sweat of Earth - to move, Bone alone remembers.
Embers die and flame grows

Man is cut, two roads shown
Song of Cave, Dead alone
Song of Heat, Colored Stone
There he sits and waits for breeze

To push him where, "Where?!" he pleads
No breeze comes, he sits at ease
Waiting, waiting, the vines reach
Waiting, the vines vine grows

And covers the man slow
Pulls and Pulls him deep, low
Where the lie of the glow
Where the cold and vine is free

Thick, Gnarled, Thorned and Twisting
Green but blind, damp - the frost seethes
Kneecap snaps upon stone slants
Screams turn song - echoes ode

And the eyes bleed to hope
Teeth Gnash indifferent-bone
Cave's Belly filled once more
And the city teems, it's more...

It's so much more...

Be still and lend ear; the sound of shimmering,
the sound of glass breaking, the sound of water
rain upon tin roofs and laughter just past dawn
alone in the slums of my own mind, no face
What am i? Where do i come from? What's worth life,
Death and the sacrifice of blood and sweat, yes.
Upon my knees and rainfall upon tin roofs.
The mirror reflects not a thing when i gaze
And the memory of the sun's zenith fades. 
What is my purpose? Why am i here? My choice.
In the cascading brilliance of the all
Not a thing beckons except my own heartbeat.
The streets hum and whir with the pace of business
And i alone stand amidst the traffic, lost.
What is worthwhile, where do i place my focus?
A million strands of hair impair my vision;
Upon their break i see only horizon
Sweeping into the just beyond -- i can't see.
There is only now, and here alone is grey. 
What do i fight for? What do i want to be? 
The phone rings but there is no answer, i pace.
Maddeningly, back and forth, nowhere to go. 
Nowhere to be, the vision is haze, i weep.
Like a tear I fall, not knowing from where, why?
I dry out and turn to air, lost on the wind.
There is no end, there is no now, there is this;
the sound of glass breaking, the sound of water
rain upon tin roofs and laughter just past dawn
alone on the drum of my own heart, i beat.