A shallow home a stationary time,
conversations with emptiness, works and worms its own persona non grata.
Twisting against the walls, the planes of my pavilion.
Echos the shallow steps of space.

Step by... Step...

Another foray into the fog, stumbling in a savage circle.
how long will the endurance last with lungs empty, eyes shut.
Tomorrow maybe the exit will be found.
Tonight there is only the bitter pondering, the pounding of feet.

Step by... Step...

The longest hallway.
Lingering lights.
Perhaps the misty morning door should be closed.
maybe...

One cold night there was a woman.
walking home, alone from work.

when suddenly she saw a stone wall.
Standing there, immovable and tall.

She moved along, the stark stone wall.
wondering why its here at all.
For she has already walked this way
almost each and every day.

Why is it she now can see?
How has it come to be?

The wall did not arrive over night,
maybe it walked she thought.
with morbid delight.
The idea alarmed her, a whole new plight.

Then distinctly upon the ground,
A silken crack she suddenly found.
It moved and slithered to where she stood
gliding faster than she could run.

Falling fast past the earth,
she saw the wall in all its girth.
How the wall extended with joy and pride.
There was no place for her to hide.

She saw one, she saw all.
She saw the nature of time, an eternal sprawl.
Most of all she saw herself.
All her life on one small shelf.

Then suddenly she stopped falling,
The gentle stop was long and galling.

Again she saw the large stone wall.
Standing there gentle and tall.

"Take a walk around my mind, tell me what you see.
Look through the doors and hard wood floors. Take a pen and mark me.
I will guide you around the rooms and gentle flowing brooks.
I will show you all the little crevasses and nooks.

First stop, atrium. Please note the gentle breeze,
and even though we are inside the, cabbages and trees.
There very green don't you think or maybe red-ish blue...
But honestly the color keeps on changing, so I leave the tone to you.

But here we are the main attracting. A charming *** of tea.
Note the chattering china, from which it was made to be.
Along with the cups and sugar tin, which are that don the table.
of course there is no helpful spoon only, a large ladle.

The table's also made of glass... That's not really relevant.

Last stop on the tour, in here we really have a treat.
For the whole room is made of millions story's yet to be complete.
Some are good and some are bad, some even a little gory.
But each and every volume makes a book which tells a more complete glory.

In the center of the room it's easy to find.
The tiny place I call a home, a small resting place for the mind.
A large leather chair sits by the fire with a warm welcoming glow.
But right next to it there is another seat, for a person I do not know.

That is all, hope you enjoyed your stay. please remember to visit the gift shop."

Its time to panic. I let you in!
My heart is open a, shallow tin.

Tell me truly, don't be scared
Would you lie here too, now I have dared?

I ask you now to not recoil.
We are all wrapped in foil.

The Mainer watched the salty skies, looking at them with over-cast eyes.
Upon the rocks the old man sat. The only company a gray shaggy cat.

"Tell me cat! Would you go, over the ocean with ebb and flow?
Would you travel alone with me, all along the open sea?
Look at my boat its over there. Bobbing with a quiet flare.
So shaggy cat. What do you say will you let me take you away?"

But the cat just sat silent and still as he watched the harbor grow deftly ill.
He saw the clouds with open eye's.
He saw the sunsets fall and rise.
He saw the coast slowly fall away.
He saw saw it fall into decay.

Soon the Mainer got up and left.
Leaving the cat at his own behest.
But the cat just looked up high above.
Saw the returning of his beloved dove.

Would you wait a little longer.
Tell me that i'm that much stronger.

Would you take me by the hand.
Cross the roads on which we stand.

Would you tell me that its ok?
When i have to move away.

Of course you would.
Thank you mum.

When I was younger I used to always cry.
Remembering the feeling of the tears go falling meekly by.

So unhappy was I then, never did I wonder.
Where my tears would ever land,
or what they would plunder.

For when that water hits the earth it starts a whole new flight.
Born of air and free from care, will it fall from tallest height.

Perhaps that tear will find a puddle, and become a little larger.
Perhaps the suns rays will evaporate this puddle making it sparser.
becoming even smaller. Faster and faster.

Until that tiny tear makes it's way to the sky.
With all the other water vapor passing it gently by.

Maybe they will all join together to form a solid cloud.
Which will move exuberantly here and there,
gliding far with flair.

Until the cloud can cope no longer
Letting lose a mighty row.
Everything comes falling down
moving too and fro.

An older I looks looks up with joy.
As the raindrops pass me by.