Every mountain wears down,
every storm loses its power,
every fire dies.
And I, alone in my place
have endured all that I can,
and limits have overtaken all that I am–
what’s left is not enough of me,
and all there is now is pain
and scars that are not mine;
so grant me the black,
the peace of release,
the end of eternity,
and a night in Oblivion.
In slumber I seek my solitude; for
a moment’s peace among the aether I
would offer all that my soul has viewed, and
only ask that I be allowed to in stillness lie;
I adore the lights and colors of the stage,
but weary I embrace the curtain’s fall,
and would that it were a one act play,
ere I might relax my standing tall:
and into the Sandman’s warm embrace,
my sorrow, my pain, my soul I would place.
More of a pseudo-sonnet really; plenty of rules broken, but I’m okay with that.
…each grain of sand
as it falls,
of a thing that isn’t
anymore than it is,
laid out in the
rhyme and reason of
seasons and tides;
and I, in my being,
am not so different
from the hourglass
by which I am governed.
And quietly, the silence ensues,
hanging over us like rain,
vengeful in its persistence
and allowing only thoughts
of shade to consume;
and in it’s being I turn
as only I can, to that place
where the only answers offered
are the ones that I hide inside–
and in the void
I find the nothing I was looking for,
I have only myself.