having read
the words
i had written
i lay somber
in solitude
soft strands
of sorrow
trace
this weary face
unable to understand
the nature
of perception
painting
my known reality
in scenes
of dormant verve
where torment falls
into tedium’s abyss
this resignation
squanders
the heart’s of men
quashing freed spirits
these tears are more
than salted dew
they whisper
thoughts
of hopeless wander
knowing
their fate
to be forsaken
swaddled in
this brimming cauldron
of cacophonous echoes
refused
their final
resting place
that lay within
your heart
what sorrow
this truth
weighs upon me
for i have come
to comprehend
its toll
as winter
now descends
brisk and bright
with snow-blanched walls
i fall
to find the fears
from which i have
forever fled
surround me
in my umbral journey
i have nothing
present
to pacify
the passing
hours
and prudence,
ever the afterthought
yet
here i lay
drenched
in tears
that draw
but one
conclusion
the illusion
of now
is the illustration
that streaks across
my mind’s eye
like light
that lived
so long ago
now soaring
above silent shadows
to show the truth
of temporal permanence
this
you have awakened
within me
i can only watch
as perfumed petals
waft
from roseate lips
Max, or Not 