Reality strikes like a gong
stories foretold and whispers take turns
such a wild-fire unrestrained
spreading in empty cases
across the unheard sounds
within the pressure of their minds

Sometimes, time just makes it right
and the sound of the rain
slowly sweeps the prejudiced remarks
as their gestures are suffocated
in the remnants of their insinuations
across my inhabited alacrity

In the whispers of my dreams
I felt their creeping shadows
those words filled with judgement
apprehended inside unreformed reasons
across the many eyes that I see
logged with unmovable and manic chaos