Depression

I interrogated my mourning,
until my inner core ceased to be
all that it was.
The sane filtering
of old drums banging into quiescent
had longed for a walkway,
to heal this noise for some time.
Someone told me that darkness
comes before the dawn.
As the galaxy unrolled,
the winnow of reason opened up a porthole.
Reminiscing, I reached for oblivion.
When a new star burns the universe has already
gardened a place for its radiance.
Did I forget that the stars shift
when a heart envisions awe?
I think I had.
Tears falling.
The dawn is coming.

Bondage

Ah, the festering aroma of innuendos,
have I not smelled the craft of your imagination today?
Who is beholden to whom anymore
but a mind and its own bouquet of opium.
It does feel like dementia of a sort,
sniffing valleys of privy vindication.
Sniffing the con artist’s who cry
and the landslides that say,"It is what it is."
This perennial sediment
has left a fighter with a sword
that it can not use.
Get up and Go you spiritless tank!
Have you not groveled enough in a land of decay?

The Field

Did you walk by your field today?
I saw you honey.
The affable statue of your thinking man
has amplified the indexes of our limbo.
"You betray my heart with your devotion to grief," he said.
I replied, "Each stem has prodded my lay. What more can the field ask
when I have willingly conformed
to its wild grass?"
The quiet air bewilders my assent again.
Have I stayed too long?
I wonder.
I am tired of the unreal.
The exquisite statue nods.

Sober Womb's

Oh how I hoarded freedoms spell, shall I tell you about it?
I was like a starved canon firing off empty, eating depletion
but why did this Master prevail me?
Woe to those cloning mannequins from intoxicated wombs.
If only the cocoon had a willful widow of unfamiliar wings,
to think of what treasures it might have known had it known.
Where's the foreshadows to summon my clarity?
This threshold of ephiphany must pursue wings they'd never known
for how else can sober womb's gather what's torn.