The gradient of the mind

Black tears she cries, black to match her dour estate.
In the halls of the house sits darkness.
Cold is the night, constricting and binding,
only the minds of the naive escape its clutches.

White encapsulates his psyche, blindingly brilliant
and wasteful purity.
Gradually poisoned, the shadows creep through.
His bright light turns to grey.

The shadows twist forward, watching always watching.
Ensnaring souls, precious souls and infecting all.
‘Shadows exist behind all objects illuminated’
Or so the saying goes.

The chalice fills, overflows and spills.
Spills the sorrow of the mourning, spills the wrath of the vengeful.
Spills the love of the kind and ignorance of the doubtful.
This cup tips and writhing colours meet on the ground.

Ribbons dancing fluidly in the wind, whirling like flames.
Sights unseen by mortal eyes for many ages gone by.
Tangible streams merrily fly from heart to heart,
loosely connecting motes of light in the darkness of the void.

Higher, the mind ascends, infinitesimal mysteries grow.
Deeper into the abyss, conundrums swirl in misty reaches.
Forbidden knowledge beckons.
In the locked tomes of silence, a whisper is heard.

Fingers close around your swallowing throat.
Trapped they have you. Cut off from all.
The power fills you, an urging you felt.
‘Escape: delve back into the hidden depths of time.’

One midsummers night you dream.
Of teary ladies and foreboding towers.
Morn arrives and you venture into the dawn,
her face in your mind and song on your lips.

The song begins, weaves and binds; the greatest of us all consumed.
Minds break, splinter and fracture under its demanding weight.
Fevered and weary we are compelled to follow. Nuanced and delicate, a haunting melody.
It dances through your mind. The song of Time.

Like fire it leaps from sapling to sapling.
We are all trees in this great forest of life.
Very few resist its intricate thrilling cadence.
Only five score have remained sane.