Wondering how all things work,
Down to the final twitch of a finger,
Under the eaves of all that surely grows.
Ivy clinging to the stone, an iron grip,
Never letting go…
Flowing wildly, like a river on Speed.
Milking the day; dawn to dusk.
Lazing, grazing, idling around.
Sweating amidst the thoughts of coming down.
Ideally, living from one to the next,
If only ideas could be lived in whole…
Caught in dreams of the girl with white hair.
Searching for feeling,
Here in the world – something that might compare.
Instead – taken as seen – pits, holes to hell.
Serving no purpose under the new regime.
Yet, faces, they come and they go.
Apparitions, mirror images.
Fickle beings in their trendsetting-
In their never letting go…
Honestly, time doesn’t heal all,
Not the things that never happened,
Not all that was left behind in the fog of self-depreciation.
Time, what can one call time?
Relentless, garbled, lunacy…
Honestly, take me back to that tilted youth!
That insatiable insanity.
Longing for time to have
Nor a past, nor a future.
Tangles of yearning, incomparable being.
Edifice of inaugural darkness.
From dark skin to white hair;
Habituated in one’s inner sanctum.
Loving, hating, somewhere between everything.
Cursing, wearing a scarf of weary strangling.
A past grown tired of fighting,
Of never letting go…