Outside my window the spirits of Africa play.
The night lit tree sways longingly in the friendly breeze.
Ruffled lions cascade smiling through the summer leaves,
while the mother dragon sits peering, curiously benevolent.
Her golden green scales reflecting the now familiar yellow orange streetlight.
Through wood framed glass and painted bars,
Her dark eyes, huge, wise and kind,
glisten with the sparks of infinite ages yet to be.

Swimming in the clouds of grey,
the faint bright light of day still gleams.
The light of blue infused so deep,
sends memories of the sun to sleep.
But we cannot weep at what once was lost,
until we escape the grasp of frost.
And swirling in the warmth a breeze,
aloft deceit,
to bring to knees.
We smile perchance and chance a glance,
at truth so true it halts belief.
Yet offers no relief.
Where to now?

Yes I've let many down,
It's the sadness I wear in my frown.
But now I remember,
why my fondness for people,
burns my soul like a raging ember.

It's the grandiose look in their eyes,
and the smug tone of their words,
when they realise,
I can never be part of their herd.

They look down on me,
from the bottom of their world,
without intelligent consideration,
That they're doing all they've heard.

I'd rather be alone,
than accept that lie,
or the unknowing inference,
deep in their blank eye.

Tumbling shattered shards of emotional remains,
fumbling in the dark now they’ve slipped their human chains.
Stumbling on a spark that will not ignite,
That will not feel love...nor delight.

Emotion from the void that swirled outside,
now deep inside, focused wide.
The light that shines is seen in halo,
withered sunsets, pale and fallow.

But does it matter that substance lacks texture,
or that far from nowhere is equal measure?

The beast of burden, gentle and tame,
inside rages a dying flame.
Moved to stop; Drop to drop.

The overflowing moment an empty cup.
What once was down was also up.

Broken doors you should not enter,
people lost through invisible mentors.

Through the window, to the soul,
the brave the strong; All along.
The feeble minded and mindful hint,
that words produce a hazy tint.

Neither sit nor slumber upon the heath,
for time is not the only thief.

First the boredom,
then the panic,
some aggression,
it’s just my manic.

Torn from twisted chaos mind emerges like an infant bourne upon a raft of minutia, adrift in a barren void of eternal emptiness.
It's darkness illuminated by the faintest belief in a systemic reality of falsehood.

Consciousness arises from within and beyond, the same.
It bubbles to the surface adrift again in memories before and after, the same.
Eddies escape the drift and envelope like a strobe lit cloak of eternal nothingness.

Irrational fear procreates and devours the bridge to transcendence as a voracious swarm of locusts to a field of ripening crop.

I am left without us.
We, a child, sat upon an alien rocky outcrop at the mouth of an ancient cave gazing into a star fired ink soaked icy abyss - ignorant of time.
Yet tick by tock it builds to a raucous crescendo of dissolution,  decay, and entropy.
Is it only here it should be?