This darkness we named light

Is simple pain and regret.

My skin is my shroud,

Death is illusion,

like love and peace.

It’s my fault I believed in barley,

And dreams conjured from smoke.

This morning I woke up mumbling ‘hopeless’

from my most recent recurring dream.

The one where all the lights go out, and I’m pitching head first

Down some adrenalin crevasse.

I ache but I don’t know why.

Perhaps the slow-witted are most brilliant,

They know the unknowing of God.

I only know that out of the sky I fell

Into a cloud,

It was my name,

All these storms in my blood.

At waking, I step through that scar and my dreams wash away.

The end is in the beginning,

The beginning is the Way.