Yet my mind reaches out in thick webs of ceaseless thought
Pondering its tomb of bone and rotted flesh
Eyes that once saw the golden rays and red painted sky
Now see only images æthereal in black
Shades of the past
And the faint ghosts of a future set in myst
Yet the present goes by unseen to me
So it is
Deaths hold is but a weak curse upon me
Yet without breath
My voice is heard
A timeless chiming
Echoes of an empty hall
Awaken the daemons
Consult the daimon
Let the angels speak
Words unheard
To those yet willing to hear
Know that this is but a ripple upon the coming wave
A tsunami drapped in fire
Even as the masquerade plays out
The prophecy unfolding
Charade or riddle
Has been written by greater seer and sage
Upon yellowed scroll
Repent in acceptance of the truth
Now
Or upon bent knee
Tag: silence
Memories fade to dust
Another day has come and gone
Yet time stands still unmoving
Shadows tracing intangible lines
Lose their meaning at the door
An invisible breath fills the void
Where once your presence sustained
Now only silent apparitions stalk
Marking existence with a vacant gaze
The Garden of Our Youth
Where have the flowers of spring gone?
Those were the days of our youth.
Spent in the hope of something better. Only to be wasted by those who did not understand their value.
Guilt or Sorrow, I do not know…
Dark thoughts hidden behind pleasant words and a polite smile
With a sidewards glance a trembling hand reaches out touching memories the mind fears which the heart holds dear…
and on the phone I find silence
Places Out of Time
I remember days that lasted weeks. Left alone to many nights at port, to many times on dusty roads.
Mirages appear and disappear like the voices in my brain. Landmarks becoming burned deep into my soul.
Out there somewhere I’m looking for something lost or maybe it’s just something I’ve never seen.
You never know what’s waiting there just beyond what you know.
Crazy ad it is, that’s exactly where I want to go…
Along the Garden Path
Another Wakeful Dream
I’ve been here before…
This same dust filled room.
I have sat there in the same worn, mildewed, moth eaten chair, and watched the silent currents blow the cobwebs into movement.
I have watched the micro world’s blown about as dust in the light of each passing day.
There every page of life is written, collected, and bound. The work of a legion of unseen hands.
Every letter, every mark upon the page, created by a host of beings.
Beings that etch their knowledge simultaneously into the condensed lines of unreadable script.
My tired eyes have long ago grown accustomed to the wording.
Upon a shelf of magnitude…
There sits the great library.
Each volume a collection of time. Each traced letter a forgotten second remembered, recorded, and shared…
And each night I close my eyes…
Each mid day nap I close my eyes…
Each careless blinking of the eye…
Another leaf, another chapter, another book is added.
They lay scattered, disheveled from there proper place…
For but a short time.
Until leathery, age worn hands, once more lifts them into their place.
I know. I have been here before.
I will be again.
The Torn Letter, From the Book of Pat
Another Wakeful Dream
I’ve been here before…
This same dust filled room.
I have sat there in the same worn, mildewed, moth eaten chair, and watched the silent currents blow the cobwebs into movement.
I have watched the micro world’s blown about as dust in the light of each passing day.
There every page of life is written, collected, and bound. The work of a legion of unseen hands.
Every letter, every mark upon the page, created by a host of beings.
Beings that etch their knowledge simultaneously into the condensed lines of unreadable script.
Linking infinite worlds and paths.
Information and energy never disappoint
Recorded beyond the boundaries of forever
Relics of bygone years
Vanity of vanities, says the Preacher, all things are vanity
Death in a deathless place
Life in a place of despair
There grows the knowledge
Torn from the roots of trees
Grown fruitless in the withering breeze
And when you look for what it is you find
It’s then you loose your place
In the endless fantastic we craft
Loosing The War
Late nights all alone
Staring out into dark places
Listening more to forgotten voices
Than a person should
Shadowy death clouds the sight
Some nostalgic musings
Remembering long walks in open woods
The distances between school and home
Forgotten rides to and from
Sudden rains and freezing cold
The wants of being needy
All those hand-me-downs
Ill fitting shoes from musty closets
Going without and not knowing it
Growing up
Wanting to give what I didn’t have
Finding out you can never give enough
To wipe away childhood things
Unable to change any of that
Staring out into dark places
Remembering you use to call it home
