I am a ghost
among the crowd,
silently looming
The predictability
of the unpredictable,
I linger
At my most,
I take on form,
ever looping
To retain,
To disperse,
To lay low or regain
I wish to be still
At a constant zerø,
if you may please
But I—
spread too thin
or dense too quick;
I will forever remain
in this gentle cycle
rinsed in chaos.
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 9:42 AM UTC
I am a ghost
among the crowd,
silently looming
The predictability
of the unpredictable,
I linger
At my most,
I take on form,
ever looping
To retain,
To disperse,
To lay low or regain
I wish to be still
At a constant zerø,
if you may please
But I—
spread too thin
or dense too quick;
I will forever remain
in this gentle cycle
rinsed in chaos.
© Cyrille Octaviano, 2016
