Even in the woeful silence of the ever present dark

a subtle light turns over itself, tonight,

whilst dwindling minds steep.

In hazy heated havens; still ticks the metronome.



Beguiling are the hues of shimmering earth

that mimic spectacles surrendered to the skies,

and the beyond which there, Beyond, it lies:

a breathing magick being we call space.



Fear, always persistent, strikes the aching heart, 

and pain will rupture us; but split in two 

we might adjourn through shrouds of all, 

absconded, thence, to find ourselves.



Wind hugs flat ground, races over empty roads,

carries what is left of life in remnants from days gone.

Transposed from temporality incarnate,

a ghost; a mist; a lingering thing we breathe.



I cauterize my wounds without a flame,

leave my blood to blend with this old world.

It will remember me, as it becomes itself

and when I die a death alas, penultimate,

I am reborn amongst the mist of consciousness.



I will relinquish all that is not mine to hold

and force is my intention, not without grace.

For harmony is power, and I am faceless;

blessed with evanescence, shedding self.



I am dying, every day;

my feet disintegrate to ash 

with every step

on my walk homeward.