Upon many days of silent pages I set forth on a journey.
I followed the river behind my house until I came to a lovely delta.
It was littered with papyrus plants  of a myriad of lengths.
I stepped into the silt on the banks, so cold and soft.

I wanted to wash away this wall of black silence.
Its strange that such words could bring me such solace,
But their silence would  only cause me anguish.
As i stepped back onto the opposite shore, I had arrived.

My goal was the piano that I had left here long ago.
Rough and nicked, it had long been left to the elements.
I sat upon the withered bench among the papyrus.
I began to play, playing to break the silence.

On sweet rigid keys I played notes of bizarre power.
It was out of tune from its long excursion in nature,
But that didn't mater. The notes held their own.
The strange sounds matched my strange writes.

With these notes that danced and  evoked such might,
I hoped to speak of the things I could not write.
It was power beyond will and might beyond majesty.
These thoughts and sounds would make Enoch proud.

When the silence speaks volumes
I will molt away
reborn with brilliant wings
of silken brown and gray

I miss my Deliahla
The happiness she bore
She greeted me every morning
Every night when I'd come home
I'd miss her even more

A beauty bore in hues of blue
Here eyes were white as snow
But one day she had to go
She was smoothing the way
a decision overflown with woe

I had to chop her down
I cut in frowns that day
no more would i see her
no more morning grace
Delilah beauty gone away

My morning glory is no more

I saw a 100 lonely symbols
Come together at a tree
Cracking open all at once
Together they scream

I craft my hopes in a halo,
Put it in my eye.
That way i can always see them.
But there always in disguise.

I fell in love with an abstract creature.
She said goodbye to her terra bonds.
No more a lainic slave to the earth,
She was beautiful.
She was different beyond belief,
A spark of greatness in a crumbling world.
Her eyes were fields of green,
In this concrete prison.
One day she called me over,
Said she had something special.
She unhinged her jaw,
and in her mouth was a white flower.
It was an odd thing to behold,
And i might have been disturbed,
Except there was something written on a petal.
All it said was i love you.

I had a guest to dinner,
It was a Nietzch ghost.
The ghost brought with him five volumes,
A stranger barring gifts in the night.
In civility i poured him tea and examined these books.
The first book was a Book of Contradictions.
A book that called for morality and peace,
But it was laid in the path of genocide and hate.
A disheartening tale of the Gott that grew to the point of oppression.
The second book was titled the Tot of Gott.
A book of the slaying of the oppressor.
The fall of the mighty by the disenfranchised man,
In its effort to cover all, the controller spread himself to the point of destruction.
The third book was the Book of Cosmic Emptiness.
A book of a speck, a book of existential glory.
It showed however grand our perspective,
We are small and empty.
The fourth book was a Book of Mirrors.
In it i saw everything and nothing.
The world around me was so clear,
But i knew nothing of myself.
The final book was the most perplexing.
Unlike the book of mirrors it was empty as the “o”.
Page after page of emptiness, lonely of words,
Save the corner of the last page which said “Your Tale”
I looked up and the ghost smiled,
A bizarre smile of accomplishment.
It took Its tea and softly rose, for the door.
It never said a word but why would it.
I wonder what my tale will be.