Time Tracing.
Taken thoughts through broken seconds.
Once again,
this enclave,
this oasis
holds shadows of shattered city folk
who repose in yellowing leaves
and heavy air.

A manufactured spirit roars outside this  fundamental square;
a pulsating rolling mechanical moment
that turns tears to poison.

Down the road ancient gods bleed in forgotten palaces
where only the old worship now.
Youth sees hate;
Youth sees lies;
Youth sees life;
Outside the
burning heart.

I dreamt once of a monk;
Who put paddle to water and wandered over oceans.

My dream;

My dream dreamt of women,
Draped in towels
Dripping their sweet sweat on his brow.

My dream;

My dream leaves me empty,
I dream of celibacy.

My dream?

I dreamt of ancient monasteries
Filled with mausoleums
And gravestones to great men,
A shattered core;
Where monk fearfully
Utter panic sing,
Convincing,
Pleading,
Hoping,

There is a pure thing.

These walls have eyes you know.
Another aesthetic second,
spoiled by the wailing walls
of a Meadow vale.
Moonbeams blowing at my web,
life, leased and brief.
Another eclectic second fused
by well and worn strings.
Their half life
A heaven of my thoughts.