My mind screams silently into the void of blackest night
there must be more to me than mere existence.
The grey zone between abstract ego and solid flesh where the carousel of being me spins endlessly on until my final dissolution,until my component parts disassemble .
The neural jigsaw that was once me dissolves back to the churned recycled particles of dust,the uncounted forebears who trickle through my fingers from any handful of earth.

Ephemeral self awareness is not enough to quell the wants,desires and grasping desperate ambitions for more that dwells within myself and all others, who hope without reason, a blind faith of better things to come.
Thus are all religions born.

He's the oneness up on high
He's the ruler of the sky
He's the one that's got no limit
imperfect vacuums got god in it

I touch her dressing gowns they're cold,
I touch her pyjamas they're cold,
I run my hand across her hanging rails of undisturbed clothes,
I touch her pillow undented by her sleeping head our bed is cold,
the torment of loss, despairing through the passing months
I fool myself and others my life goes on, a parody of existence
becoming more transparent as I fade away,
my life like hers is over

I don't think I shall ever be
a man who can write rhymes