The words fell to dust.
I itch to wish desperate moments away.
In dreams my touch renders everything strong,
absolute, unlike this weary existence that falls,
My attention seems to be revolving
around belligerent abhorrence.
I canít understand it. Maybe I chose this
pathetic rendition of a muse distraught.
The trials of woe have caught my tears and
bonded earthly visions into
I canít name
the horror which roughen hues upon
A glowing rubric emblazes an
elaborate fallacy, mingling the irony of
presumption and time
s l i p p i n g
Numb deliriums adorn chapels draped
with the ghosts of hollow trees.
Iridescent shadows strain to chase
and delight in the memories of sight.
Nothing can replace this. No time will do justice to the glory
Of grace dispersed. This poem canít explain the
For wind blows enigmatical in all manners
Poems canít justify the
sorrows of wind
Blowing through caverns
Gone tomorrow, hollow.