Slowly all the questions

Turn into lingering reflections ;

And all the petty and the worthless

Have become the most precious .

     and , "This we do in remembrance ,"
              "Lest we forget ,"
              "Takes place in eternity ,"
     are but not as dramatic :

. . . . . . . . . only greater . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . .The acorn than the tree . . . . . .

Accept these seconds for what they are ,
       (Sunlight filtering through the
        grates of life deep into the soul's eye)

Erase myself to experience
And though the leaf looks so
Divinely alive and at one with the sun
Without aching there is no poetry

Through the blue tone
Of my deadened layers
The life leaked so simply
Disappearing into the pool of
Emptiness and rage
Into the eyes
That knew no gratitude
The bottomless fall into
Meaninglessness
And yet through the lucidity of this phantasy
Faith persisted to survive
Uncomprehancibly
Unverbalized
The sound of a dead crow
Prophesizing there is more
Than mind can comprehend
Worlds yet to be discovered
Inspirations and souls to be awakened

Somewhere, amongst the debris
of cigarettes after ***,
chemicals to induce sleep,
I forgot what it means to love.

I forgot what it means to breathe,
to sit still, and just be.

Somewhere, beneath these hooded seams
of solitude and well-versed grief,
beats a heart less cynical,
less tamed by vague distraction.

My nervous ticks and bad habits,
line of best fit for a near-hit
of satisfaction:

This is not enough, I know.
This is not nearly enough
to cool the bray of life
that still rattles meaning in my bones.

I forgot what it means to love,
what separates a house from a home.

Somewhere beyond this thirst
for brand-new words
is a gratitude for all that has been.
Every cliché holds a truth.

Every sentiment, a cocoon,
that I should lie so still inside

until I am wholesome,
until I am new.