In hours such as this, on the spur of the moment

I look inwards and spring alive deadened capacities

An introspection of the being, my heart longs to chastise

As I cough I let out my cares

And as I wheeze, each whistling sound, announcing an awaited arrival

I feel suddenly, the unwanted occupants of my body, shove off.

Find their way out, like evening steam, diffused through a chimney.

Yet, an illuminating bulb emerges today

A difference

An inkling of positivity deep from the pile of my cardiovascular complexities

I wonder what it is,

Perhaps my long needed answers

Possibly, my long-forgotten worries grown so mature

That it lay something circular in me; an offspring.

An invitation to renewal

12AM; strong moonlight, scanty stars.


At the offset, creepily from the west,

The ants, crawl past the woods, into mystifying adventures

They come from the lower world, where things for large moments

Remain motionless.

Down in my basement, lie tables made from the finest teak

Chairs cushioned from the Mahogany we spent our days beneath

And things I stacked for new

beginnings, confronting mysterious enigmas

The ants crawl, and little are they aware, that lava spills from the ancient

mountain, from which they have come to forget

This is the higher world, higher affairs


reality strikes slowly, leaking, just as droplets of water, through a jaded roof

The ants are stung, never to sting again.  


Energies, positive and negative bounce off each other

Angels dressed in white and blue drapes abound in snow replete

And rain-laded spaces

Songs of melancholy, songs of pain

Their voices, the sound of tubes

Their torment, the marvel of jamming galaxies

They are trapped, in manacles made

Of clouds.

Their futures are spelled backwards

But beauty survives just like scars

There is a second coming

This time, for judgement

With a key to liberate those whose voices

Have survived centuries of regret.


Like an unearthly vision of one’s self

The man’s spirit is disengaged from his body

He sees his reflection, bearing the lucidity of day’s light,

on the surface of the river that lathers off all hopes;

with no weapon and no plan

Flickering, and bouncing off of itself, just as a mirror trying

To track moving sunlight

He watched himself, try to get a firm hold of the moment

Seeking not to sink into what seemed abstract

But his reflection is held back  

His shadow, waiting on the other side.

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