A great chasm gaping but no words are escaping and it feels like I'm skating on ice.
Nice though it may be each day comes to slay me as the morning breaks open my eyes.
It cuts through my skin as it finds a way in and I want to get out but cannot,that spot in the sky burns me down and I die into daylight once more.
I am trapped on the scrapheap where sleep is the answer and the question unset, is this moment in time where I get the unsettling feeling that my life is just peeling away,
the chasm spreads wide like the tide's going out and I find I can't swim but the day's already in and so it's going to be fine.

Then the wine flows like evening that goes on and on and the bottle once full is now gasping,
almost gone.
The ash of the day flusters slowly and gray and the night grasps me tight to her waist.
This tester,this taster of what will be later is enough for the hour of me,I see  trees bare,unladen with care,I see them full with the blossoms of May and am blinded by beauty,
surely
sore and rocked by these cores which are central,essential and necessary to me where the elements line up and the squadron I see forms the form of all things
and the conclusion I come too is that all things will come true as each day I break out of breaks through into me.