A blinding Hopeless inclination towards a blending of nostalgia And something just a twinge surreal. Too enraptured, perhaps, or too locked inside the senses The search takes me places, to small shards that I don't quite comprehend. Still unsure why, if I can't, or I just don't want to.
It's old and familiar Soaking in solitude, rife with memory. Touched lightly by the hem of rose tint, blooming in the spreading flames. As the old wooden paneling, tried as a tinderbox Begins to peel away, affected by the heat. A fire, awakening with the first rays of morning. To warm up the little room, as the walls softly fall, turning to ashes. Revealing the bare frame. And the fauna outside begins to show itself Sprinkled with dew, gently coaxing away the flames. Rooted too close, it would seem As they progress, slowly wither under ash
But for now, I still crawl through creation. Hopeless, I'll never recapture... Ignoring new context, engulfed in this fruitless rapture With the past still dancing through my head.