Halfway To a Dream

It lurks there, fitfully around the corner of my mind and will not show its face like an April thunderfront, and scarce aware that winter slipped away a week ago behind a cloud of consciousness, reluctantly occludes the air with nebulosity, a shy Olympus in denial. It moves within my chest, a void creating sleep, denying it as some sardonic phantom torture just outside the room... the stillness its ally... the calm a faithless sanctuary, death delayed as if my very breath were there to test a faith that I no longer own. What kind of ghost reality will mock its own existence... claim its victim with an objectivity in doubt...a phantom court without a charge to read, a plaintiff unidentified? Indeed, what kind of God could graciously endow his Adam in a garden home so redolent with unseen sin diffused before his unborn eyes? I do not know. For though millenia have passed, I'm only of hominidae, my blueprint is not finished and my paradisal masterwork amorphous, cold beneath my touch, and still. ~