Time, as it's measured, within lengths in-between
Wondering things.
Like "How much can i see?"

          "I think too much."
       "Stop trying so hard."

Confusion, insight.
Am i done with this chore?

For every thought we have thought,
More time has been measured.
And all the measurements passed,
Moving on, never tethered.

Every new idea, arriving in this sea of perception,
Adds more and more still,
And no limit is given.

Each seed sprouts more.
Hundreds it seems,
In pursuit, never ending


On eternity's wing.

Dependence is hindering.

I'd hoped I'd made that clear.

                                                         Your offer, support, unending.

                                            "I'll never leave you here.."


And the warning foreseen before this,

"You say you won't but one day, you'll leave."

                                                       A shadow begins to fester.
                                
                        ­                    "No matter what, you'll always have me."


  This twisted, mass-less,
           Foggy madness.
                 Knows to what i drive when i do not.
        
And the hands promising to never let go,
        Have slipped away,
              As was once foretold.


But there is no hatred,
No screaming of "WHY!?"
The expectation, leaves no room for lies.

Only misunderstanding, the woe that one feels.
When one suddenly realizes,
"With this, I can't deal"

No apologies needed, How could you have known?
If even, by the mouths of mad seers, you were told.

This was never your battle, and I'm greatful you tried.
But for now, I can't look at you.


           Your picture reminds me of the cost of my journey.
        The screams, late at night, bitter thoughts left unburied.
          And the impenetrable haze, fueled by guilt and blame,
               Will never be cleared as long as i see your name.


                                                         ­                I'm not your responsibility...


   It's clear you can't walk with me...


Any longer.

Unwavering eye in a sea of perspective.
The thoughts holding tight to threads of protection.
And other eyes wandering, lock your direction.

    As one hope dies, another is born
Or a new hope that kills so that others can grow.
Physically, no different with flesh that expires.
For a death that grieves us, may relieve the tired.


Oh, lonely eye, individual cell,
Know that heaven could never exist without Hell.
The worse that you could fear to endure,
Is fuel for the joy in your future.



                           Do NOT fear the dark, Individual cell.

There are many other's that your torment may help.
perhaps even you, if in time it is so.
For many cells make a body.
And individual, whole.

Hidden in corners, so easy to see
    Darkening doorways, empty halls, midnight streets.
        Hiding much, for most "I can't tell you, I can't see"

For the question, "What was that..." was the answer I'd seek.


"Nothing's there."
     Can't they SEE it?!
           Flowing through NOTHING,
                Like Water.
          
                In such silence...
           I assume,
      Can't really hear over my mind.

Until sleep begins it's caress.
I'll hear them, in time.

Some of them, clearly Mad
Is this madness within me?
No, I'm sure it cant be.
They don't always speak to ME.


   Unconsciousness embrace, awareness begins to fade
Sleep settles in to welcome a new day.

I lay.

A Scream.
     I awake, no time has passed at all.
          The walls are still, the echos
               Of the silence.

My god, the maddening SILENCE!
The sequel to the screams.
Why must it be heard before
I've even a chance to dream.




                             The shadows continue to twitch.
                       The dancing blackness other's never see
                 When i ask them "What was that..."
           To be replied "Nothing's there."

"It's just a dream"

Nothing to say
Nothing to show

Waiting for nothing, at last it's arrived.
The ghost of a hope no longer alive
Just the waiting remains with no reason behind.

A bucket, empty, bone dry from evaporation
As it sits, unfilled, for what seems like generations.

And the water is gone.
And gone, that which would fill it

         But **** anyone who dares to renew it.

This bucket must wait to be filled by the tide
That no longer will visit the cavity inside.

The grim ghost of a hope that its contents return.
Not some fresh, new, clean source, but the one that was first.

The Ghost of the dying, or dead Hope that was fueled,
Leaving nothing behind
But patience.



This deadly numb patience, the husk of a goal
That once dreamed each drop would return to the whole,
Is now simply nothing.
It's for nothing, i wait.

With nothing to show.
And nothing to say.