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Poem

iv.


within genesis, 
a silent monk chanted
at a perpetual window,
thin cracks of canticle’s
completed my insanity,
at astonishing heights
invisible feet walked on air,
free of psychosis 
the water rippled as I slipped, 
silently screaming 
into this dazzling stream 
called life …


v.


clarity is and was
no cushion to float on, 
its feathers, 
still protrude from the
corner of my swag,
and my feet 
are pierced to arch
with the stigma …


vi.


my head toppled into hands
brimming with dark iridescent clouds, 
whose black pillows of depression
strain at the seams, pinpricks of light 
rip the fabric in the lye of madness, 
paranoia had concealed hope. 
by its very deception 
it had become, 
my compass point and light
on the longest road …


vii.


hands that were absent of movement 
found perpetual motion, 
and they grew callous 
crawling a mere breath
from the hard road of life 


beauty had become stranger
and in Orion’s belt
a pelt was hung 
and forgotten 
as the dead flee, 
serendipity was distracted
by the sparkle
in my broken wings, 
submersed in delusions 
and still alive with imagination 


she forever soothes me
in the shadows
I hide between,
a blue ocean
and a tea green sea
distantly I hear 
and know …. 


Tu-whit!- Tu-whoo!


viii.


varied are the shades of illusion
in which I bathe …

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