Floating on the wind,
Staring at the void,
I carry the null of my sum,
As I come falling, slowly down.
The rage that claws in my soul,
Surrenders itself to fright,
Yielding a pugnacious grudge,
That spills into the night.

I know I hear what I'm thinking,
It couldn't be any smaller,
Like the lion's den, where my angel fell,
Into the darkest creeps of the night.

I try to live while I'm sleeping,
I could not see the illusion,
Of the future for rent,
As the silence frequents,
This strange lunar karma.

Lazy oceans of feelings,
I try to swim but they're frozen,
And mine is a heart so choked
And bound in wire rope,
Then the morning brings the day.

Every night she sits upon the rocks,
Her eyes gazing upon the moon.
The dark woods, they creep all around her,
As she wonders and wishes upon the stars.
The soft trickle of the stream rings in her ear,
All else is the silent whisper of the wind blowing,
As the calm night soothes her soul,
She wonders, alone.

When time becomes like a vapour,
The shape of one's self changes,
Lights that became burnt and warped,
Are an optimistic memory, angled at the future.
Hope, a vision still in sight,
But so blinkered in this vortex,
A maze so difficult to find footing or navigate,
But so delightful to ignore an easy to become marooned.

The clandestine truth,
A softly spoken whisper that clasps our souls together,
Amidst brilliant light and empty darkness,
Across voids of space and aeons of time,
This faint whisper of origin,
That ventures across every utterance of creation,
Brings forth meaning, vision and acceptance.

My ashtray tells a lovely story,
How much time I have lost,
I count the moments....
Each ***** ****'s pungent stink,
Reminding me to ignite the next smoke,
A smooth, fragrant death stick,
A weapon of mass destruction,
An appeasement for the demons,
That fits my hand so well.