The Mad Hatter

Multiple choices with one last try, amid this myriads maze Someone very dear unto myself asked me the other day "Is the sun shining where you are?" So I took a crystal glance, into an oblong box.... Actually I thought, as I peered ever closer into this warping glass It all seemed somewhat cold, wet and gray! Raindrops dripping from the mostly barren branches And winding their way down the misted window, of panaramic views.... Hues reflecting, submitting, the paradigms of practices profound? A darker shade, shades, rippling the prevailing winds Which echo within this momentary passing, of paradoxical hands Words of whispers, which seem so transparently clear But only in the vague, of twilights turning.... As abstract, as the voices I have heard as of late!? While clinching leaves, left upon the transient trees Tattered by the gust of times perpetual blinds, descend Within these obtuse waters; like tossing waves about a churning sea To and fro, amid the riptides, of teeterings dance and sway.... While holding on like spoon fed birds, upon the precarious wires, of waverings way Bathing in these open skies, of morellos want and need! A concord of sorts; this hearse of harmonies chords Smatterings of immersed, within the funnels of fallings, from whence they breed Shadows, dancing beyond the dimming lamp post lights Crooked forms cast, as the silence begins to settle in.... For all is not always what it sometimes seems!? And yet, there are some that still do stand, afore these chalkboard blocks Always beholding the brighter promises, of the soon to be coming day ~ Theirs is no easily shaken reed, beneath these storms of seethe.... Where maliciousness is not within the window wells of proven Sorrows, always sprinkled upon the platters, of these hell bent things? The answers found within the prisms, of risings columns beyond the rain Inverted reflections, spiraling from the tainted gray grim skies While these cankerous versions of resonatings darker light.... Subterranean realities, of the solar ecliptics matinee midnights, implode! Sitting upon my window ledge, an image, of the end of time Hat in hand, with a familiar impish smile, and, the hollowest of eyes? A reprise, of the wet, the cold, and the blue-black, day.... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The Mad Hatter