into the thin air it vanished,
the sense and sensibility all perished.
the quiet in nights turned,
a silent mind it yearned.
void of reason, devoid of logic.
innate stubbornness, innate pride,
lost to it all, desolate might.
turning in bed, all too aware.
cowering in sheets,
from those dreary nightmares.
with bated breath and beaded sweat,
a yearning, a discerning and a sudden awareness of death,
of fleeting time in hand and of urgency to take a stand.
convolution of thoughts, a concussion of sorts.
for , the things of matter and matter of things,
a parallelism, that doesn't seam.
a parallelism indeed,
of, self that matters and the self that doesn't,
of,letting go and holding on,
of, nightmares and daydream.
a sojourn in the dreams of inaction,
and of dilapidated affairs of men,
struck by lightning and pangs of paranoia.
sights of knavery and of chicanery.
sight of self, in the deluge.
an epiphany struck and catharsis followed.
and a thought, a naive perception all billowed.
and whims of self that doesn't matter...
like a frail glass it shattered.
-PR