Even continents will crumble
from the pressure of the world.
The highest clouds will tumble
into twisted patterns of a curl.
Maybe the wind is screaming “mercy”
to the idle feeling in my bones,
but I only know what I perceive
and my mind is deaf to foreign tones.
A heavy soul's another burden
sailing on the ocean of the mind,
hoisted onto shoulders again
causing frayed virtues to unwind.
My thoughts are turning icy.
Frozen sheets claw up my back.
Icicles growing through my psyche
antagonize the fire that I lack.
I could be wrong for trying
to see the blues through rosy glass,
but when flocks of thoughts go flying
I watch the purple pass.